


Untitled, 1901

by neverthelast



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempt at Humor, F/F, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Historical Inaccuracy, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, M/M, Murder Mystery, My Fair Lady subplot, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Political Alliances, Queer History, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Thames Torso Murders, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverthelast/pseuds/neverthelast
Summary: After losing his father and their family business to a fire, Eggsy and his mother were left to fend off for themselves in the streets of Victorian London. As years passed they did everything they could and held themselves just above poverty, raising a lovely daughter and sister, whose father was their financial supporter as well as the leader of a local gang.Surprisingly, Eggsy's luck turns for the better when finding a murder victim leads him to meet two gentlemen from an intelligence agency. His interest piqued by their ties to his father and an offer for a new job, Eggsy decides to accept the offer in hopes of getting rid of all those secrets surrounding his father's death and at the same time help catch England's most notorious killer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As a Victorian era enthusiast I was rather suprised when I found out there were no Victorian Merwin fics (at least not on this site). Or maybe I didn't search as well as I though? Oh, well, more fics are better than nothing!
> 
> This work is a mix of fact and fiction, inaccurate and accurate historian facts. I've used some slang from the period and took the liberty of forming the way a certain character talks. Some slang will be explained in Notes. Feel free to chime off in the comments if I miss a word or my grammar needs fixing.
> 
> Unbeta'd. I check a chapter a few times before posting, but tell me in the comments if you're up for the job.
> 
> •Bobby - a police officer  
> •Cop a mouse - to get a black eye  
> •lag - a person previously convicted and sent to prison  
> •Bricky - brave

_1887, London_

“Thief! Cease him!”

People barely have the time to turn back in curiosity before a youth runs pass them, a bundle of books hugged tightly to his chest. His muddy shoes squelch as he dashes through the wet streets of cobblestone. He prays that the people around him will ignore the tell-tale sound and remember it only as a concomitant of the morning rain and a possible servant late from his errands.

Only when the marketplace is gone out of sight does he allow himself a cautious glance behind himself. With no pesky bobby in sight, he heaves a sigh of relief. But in no way did this mean he was safe, now he was once again in a race against time to reach the docks.

A sharp turn around the corner startles the horse that was pulling a nobleman’s coach. The frightened animal neighs in surprise and almost breaks free of the coachman’s hold.

“Imbecile! Be more careful,” He roars as the youth murmurs a quick apology and pulls on the front of his dingy cap to make sure the infuriated coachman could not catch a glimpse of his face. With another shake of his fist, the coachman steadies the horse and proceeds with his journey, leaving the young man to continue running towards the riverside.

A near church’s echoing bell indicates that noon has come. Shite, he was destined to arrive a few minutes past what they’ve agreed on…

But then again, Dean had never cared for punctuality. All he ever demanded was for the job to be done.

“There, I’ve brought ‘em,” A bundle of three books falls right in the vacant centre of Dean Baker’s gang.

“Muggsy!” Dean displays a disgusting smile and bends down to look over what was brought to him. Poodle leans over the leader’s shoulder, curious to see why these books were so important. “Were ya followed?” Dean asks as he licks his meaty thumb and flips a few pages.

“No,” Comes a firm answer. Dean looks up for a moment, a heavy stare trying to make Eggsy confess to a mistake. But Eggsy remains silent, he was used to this by now and knew how to act, what to say to adapt to Dean’s shifting mood.

“Good. Good,” Dean nods and shuts the book with a satisfied ‘thud’.  Judging by the look of utter confusion on Poodle’s face, the book was not of their usual readings’ nature. Something more complex then, Eggsy notes. “Keep ‘is up and ya got yerself a spot in the gang.”

Eggsy’s eyes become cloudy. “Ain’t tha reason why I’m here.”

The leader shows him a sneer. “Awfully bricky for a measly brat, aren’t we?” The gang comes alive with taunting smiles and scratchy laughter. “Run along then.”

“You promised…” Eggsy’s stern voice comes to a halt when he sees a number of the gang’s members rise in intimidation.

“Ye heard him, run along,” Rottweiler bears his teeth.

“Sit down, Rottie,” Dean waves him away and returns his unsettling gaze on Eggsy. “Now, wot did pops promise ya, Muggsy?”

He feels a cold shiver down his spine but ignores it out of sheer spite for the man in front of him. “I’d rather drown myself in Thames than call yo’ ugly mug _pops,_ ” Eggsy spats out. “…You promised money so I could bring it back to ‘em.”

“Yes, suppose that wouldn’t be fair,” Dean fishes out a few coins out of his shabby coat’s pocket and tosses them for the younger boy to catch.

Eggsy manages to catch them easily, with one hand. However, he frowns at the number of coins in his palm. "That's it?"

“Always so demanding,” Dean grumbles, taking hold of something behind his back and kicking it towards Eggsy’s feet.

“Wot is this?” Eggsy picks it up. “A half-empty bottle of gin? Daisy can’t have this!” No other complaint leaves his mouth as multiple members step forward. This time Dean didn’t appear as _sympathetic_ as he did before. The number wasn’t so great that Eggsy couldn’t escape alive, but no doubt he’d return home with a broken rib or a nasty bruise forming over his eye.

Growing up under Dean’s watchful gaze, Eggsy had to learn various ways and techniques to outsmart him or at least realize when Death was breathing down his own neck. It would be wise to return home with Dean’s lousy attempt at charity than a new colour to his face and make his mum worried sick yet again.

“Run back to ‘ye mum’s before you cop a mouse,” Poodle sniggers behind Dean.

Eggsy wished for nothing more than to beat that grin right off of Poodle’s face and then take care of the rest of them…

But he couldn't. He's left to bottle up his anger and disdain for Baker and his gang in fear of the consequences of his actions falling onto his mum and little sister. Well, Dean might not hurt his own daughter and woman but he'd take all of his anger on Eggsy, beat him until the younger male couldn’t stand anymore.

And what will happen once Eggsy’s dead? His mum and Daisy would be lost without him. Dean wouldn’t be such a monster to abandon the woman who gave birth to his daughter or so Eggsy had hoped. Dean Baker’s fists were so familiar to Eggsy that he wondered if the man was even capable of showing kindness.

With a clenched jaw, Eggsy accepts his rewards for stealing three accounting books and walks away from Dean and his gang.

“I dun’ know why ye bother with that brat anyways,” Rottweiler speaks up. “We could have brought ‘ese back ourselves.”

“You’re as tall as a bloody beanpole, Poodle has the stealth of a sack of potatoes and the rest of ya lot are easily-spotted lags! Eggsy’s smaller, faster and smarter than ya sods. He’d be me best man if not for ‘hose useless morals that brat still clings to,” His men stare at him in silence, faces sour and rather miffed. “Oh, stop actin’ like pansies! Poodle, here,” He shoves the three books into the bigger man’s arms. “Find someone acquainted with the lingo in these, preferably no one stupid enough to ask questions.”

“Why can’t _yer precious pet do the readin’_?” Poodle does the blind mistake of opposing his authority. His question receives a sobering punch to his shoulder.

“I told ya, the brat’s smart! The less he knows the better,” Dean announces with a shake of his fist. Poodle pulls back, anticipating another blow, luckily, it never comes. “I’ll find a way to make sure he’ll help us out but before that, I need ya to stop whinin’ and start readin’! Go on then, ya have a fortnight till my patience is gone,” And with that, Dean strides towards the pub he frequented.

His men share a look of fear and then separates into two halves – one follows their leader and the other, the smaller one, ventures into the streets of London in search of someone to read through those numbingly boring accounting books.

\---

The sun had already set when Eggsy reaches the slums. Due to his robbery earlier in the day, he'd decided to stay out of the public's eye and take the long way home. As he moves through the alleyway's shadows, Eggsy tries his best to dodge the children’s greedy hands and small groups of licentious women, beckoning him closer with promises of sensual entertainment, for a price of course.

As if he’d ever entertain the idea of bedding one of those women.

Eggsy was quick to turn his head the other way while other men’s mouths watered at the sight those perky bosoms. Maybe it’s because he’s used to their attempts of seduction or perhaps he remembers the time his own mother had to sell her body just to keep herself and Eggsy off the streets.

He assumes that it’s his priorities that keep his mind off the allure of warm flesh. These were dark times, not as dark as the years following his father’s death but dark ones nonetheless. Now he had to work hard, earn enough to provide for his overburdened mother and little sister. Eggsy needed to find a way, be it honest work or thieving, to give the two most important people in his life a proper home and make sure they wouldn’t have to live at Dean’s mercy.

And it was truly just mercy, wasn’t it?

Eggsy was sure it’s what allowed his small family to live in their little, two-storied house on one the few better streets of the vast slum district, if such a thing was even possible to distinguish. It was the best they could afford, which often threatened to leave them with no sufficient funds to purchase enough food, but a rumbling stomach was better than the threat of being killed over the piece of bread you had on your person. You could steal some food; a life lost over some foolish thing as a few crumbs of bread could never be returned. And Eggsy would rather go hungry than to expose his mother and sister to the dangers of their cruel world. Some of his fears might seem laughable to others but Eggsy knew how heartless people can be.

A desperate man is capable of many things. Eggsy knew this best than anyone. Just a few years back he and his mother were forced to do everything in hopes of surviving in this accursed town.

His feet guide him around a corner and walk through the familiar maze of identical, little houses. Once the slabs of stone the road was made of were a cool grey but now, even after all this rain, it held a muddy sheen. The reddish bricks around him were once bright but now they had a gloomy tint of black to them, undoubtedly there from years and years of thick smog and pollution from the industrial chimneys.

A few doorways pass and Eggsy steps onto his own. It’s a house he shares with his mother, sister, two other families and their landlady – a grouchy old spinster with awfully loud snoring and an even more awful temper. Eggsy opens the door and finds the inside somewhat warmer than the chill on the streets. The smells of dampness and mould greet his senses, an uncomfortable yet calming thing. Eggsy hears voices coming from the nearby rooms and sees Jamal at his usual place by the fire. Eggsy greets his friend with a smile and a quick pat on the shoulder.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Jamal returns the smile but it falls as soon as he sees the bottle of gin Eggsy was holding. “Since when do you drink?” He asks alarmed.

“Dean, that reprobate, gave me this instead of more money for mum an’ Daisy,” Eggsy sloshes the half-empty bottle and looks down on it. “None can offer a decent coin for this…Might as well use it,” He decides with a sigh.

“Don’t drink! You’ll give your mum a scare!” Jamal hisses, making sure to keep his voice down so the rest of his family wouldn’t hear them.

“I wasn’t planin’ on it,” Eggsy smiles lazily. It was always fun to see Jamal become worried over Eggsy instead of four of his other siblings. It helped Eggsy remember the happy moments from his early childhood, be it his mother scolding him for scattering his toys around the shop or the warmth of his father’s hand on Eggsy’s head. All of it now but a dream as he is forced to return to the grim reality.

“You’re givin’ it away?”

“Yeah, be a nice contribution to our rent, wouldn't it?" Jamal’s face forms into a relieved smile. Their landlady did not condone to harbour drunken tenants but seldom refused a drink herself.

Soon Jamal is called to join his family for dinner and Eggsy sees it as his cue to head upstairs.  “Fancy a game of cards after dinner?”

“It’s been a long day…”

“…I understand,” Jamal ends up nodding yet his eyes remained curious. Eggsy knew Jamal had questions, ones he was too ashamed to answer.

Jamal and Ryan were the two other men Eggsy’s age that were tenants of the same house. They too were the people to put the biggest portion of their families’ funds on the table, but chose slightly different paths than Eggsy.

Jamal had four younger siblings, a mother that worked under a demanding family with a noteworthy title, and a father who spent most of his days in a boat as most fishermen do. The eldest son worked long hours to provide for his brother and sisters as did his parents.

Ryan, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky and had to venture for himself, his pregnant mother and ailing grandfather. To keep his family housed and fed Ryan had to take up any type of work out there, often working late throughout the night just to make ends meet. Eggsy didn’t see Ryan so often because of those late hours. In the end, Ryan would say such a life was exhausting but honest - something Eggsy couldn’t say about his own ‘work’.

“Thank you,” Eggsy offers his friend a grateful smile, hoping it would be enough, and heads towards the staircase.

He couldn’t tell Jamal what jobs Dean was assigning him to. Eggsy knew his friend would try to talk him out of such a dangerous line of work, for Eggsy’s mother’s sake if not for his. Jamal won’t listen to Eggsy and how hard he tried to find a decent job just to escape Dean and his gang. But it was hard to find work, especially these days when the population of London seemed to grow not by years but _days_. No, he couldn’t tell Jamal because Eggsy couldn’t quit being Dean’s lackey, not just yet.

If Eggsy tells Jamal, Jamal would surely tell Eggsy’s mother and when her son wouldn't listen, she'd try to talk to Dean Baker herself, which could lead them to lose their main supporter when it came to income. Eggsy won't let it come to that. It was far too risky.

He walks up the creaky stairs to the second floor and stops in front of a dark oak door. Deciding to hide the bottle of gin from the ladies’ eyes, Eggsy moves it behind his back before opening the door.

It was a mangy room with two narrow beds, a few wobbly tables, a slightly cracked mirror hanging above the basin, and a single window in the widest wall overlooking an equally gloomy house, identical to the one they lived in. His mother sat on her bed and was knitting a shawl for her daughter since the one the girl usually wore was wearing rather thin.  On the other bed, his younger sister was trying to read a book that looked too complex for a child her age. Eggsy guesses his mother had somehow gotten a hold of it and decided to use it to teach her youngest some advanced grammar. Unfortunately, they couldn’t afford a proper children’s book.

The two women look over as they heard the door being opened.

“Eggsy!” Daisy exclaims in childish excitement and jumps off the bed in a hurry to give her brother a welcoming hug. Her bright smile and bouncing curls was a sight for sore eyes.

“Hullo, love,” Eggsy strokes Daisy’s hair and moves the bottle a bit further, so his sister couldn’t touch it by accident. “How was your day?”

“Borin’,” Daisy declares in distaste. “But mummy brought me a new book to read! The words are strange an’ difficult but…” She points her sad eyes on the wooden floor. Poor thing, because they've given her nothing but advanced vocabulary books, Daisy probably thought she was slow-witted. If only she knew how proud her brother and mother were for her struggles. Eggsy just wished he could set aside enough money to buy her something simple and fun like a book of fairy tales. If he’ll find something else besides thieving for Dean, perhaps he could buy a book like that for Christmas. And maybe an inexpensive brooch too. Something nice for both of the women in his life.

 “She learnt words like ‘frugal’ and ‘prudent’,” Michelle notes and sees the edge of the bottle Eggsy was hiding. Her warm eyes become worried, an emotion Eggsy dreaded to see on his mother’s face, but she stayed silent in the end.

Eggsy smiles, grateful, wordlessly promising to explain everything once Daisy was out of earshot. “Wot big words for a small flower.”

“Nonsense, the more I’ll know – the more I’ll grow!”

“Yes, yes, but even growin’ flowers need to rest. Come on, it’s late,” He returns his eyes to his little sister and gently guides her deeper into their room. They sit on Eggsy’s bed. Daisy picked up her book while Eggsy slid the bottle of gin under the bed, covering it up by taking off his shoes.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” Michelle moves to stand up. “I’ll bring you somethin’-”

“Mum, I’m fine,” Eggsy’s words stop her. “I’m too tired anyway. Best to just go to bed.”

“That’s not healthy…” She frowns at her son. Daisy shared her sentiment.

“I’ve got money. I’ll buy us somethin’ fuller in the mornin’,” Michelle clearly wanted to protest but the tiredness she felt after a whole day of work at the factory was creeping up on her. In the end, she lets it go.

“Help Daisy get ready and wash up, I’ll be back with a pitcher in a minute,” She says, sounding defeated, and steps out to retrieve a pitcher of water.

Daisy jumps off the bed and follows Eggsy to their joint wardrobe. They quickly change into their nightclothes, just in time for their mother to return. Eggsy takes the pitcher and pours water over Daisy’s palms at the basin in the corner of their room. His sister makes good use of the pouring water and hurries to wash her face and rinse her mouth, then taking the pitcher from Eggsy and helping him do the same.

Their mother changes into her nightgown and shoos them to bed when it was her turn to wash up. Eggsy settles on his bed after it emits a few creaks of protest at his moving body weight. Daisy hesitates to get into their mother’s bed and stood by Eggsy’s instead.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” She asks shyly, afraid of bothering her tired brother.

“It would be my honour to be your personal furnace tonight,” Eggsy mimics a posh voice and moves closer to the wall, giving Daisy room to lie down. She scoots over instantly and snuggles into Eggsy’s chest. He smiles at her fondly and places a kiss on her forehead, to which she responds with a giggle.

Now washed up, their mother blows out the candle that lit their room and climbed into her own bed. Moonlight pooled through the window, casting a pale shine on her hand and the crown of her head.

In the narrow comfort of his bed, Eggsy finally realizes how exhausted recent events have left him. He still heard loud voices from downstairs, the landlady scolding Jamal’s siblings for running in her house, but the noises were distant enough for Eggsy not to be disturbed by them. Minutes pass and he feels himself begin to drift into sleep when a quiet voice brings him back.

“Are you too tired to tell me a story?” Daisy drags her head from under his chin.

“For you? Never,” Eggsy chuckles despite his tiredness. “Have I told you of tha glass roof?”

“Yes.”

“How I caught our neighbour stealin’ flowers from tha garden of a girl he fancied just to gift ‘em back to her?”

“Yes,” She titters. “That one was funny.”

“It was, then how about tha man who wanted us to photograph four of his cats?”

“That one was so lovely.”

“I’m beginnin’ to think you’ve heard all of ‘em.”

“There must be somethin’ else!”

“Daisy, let Eggsy sleep.” Michelle huffs across the dark room.

“I’ll think of a quick one…” He searches his mind for a happy memory, a funny story from when he was young and still looked at the world around him with eyes full of wonder.

“Then…Do you remember our picnic? Out in that field,” Michelle offers.

“Yes, I think I do. Have I ever told you about it?”

“No,” Daisy shakes her head against his shoulder.

 “I was almost as old as you. Father had many appointments that summer an’ it would seem that he’d get more later on. Mum feared he was overworkin’ himself and decided to drag us out tha city for a day trip. We travelled to a rural town not that far from London. Mum ended up hatin’ it with all that heat an’ travelin’ by foot. Father didn’t hate it so much an’ liked all tha clean air you can't find in London. We set our picnic under a big tree by a field of wildflowers-”

“What kind of flowers?”

“I don’t know tha names but there were many – blue, white, yellow and red. I picked some up an’ gave a small bouquet to mum. She loved it, even though I left some roots and dirt.”

“They were still lovely,” Their mother hums at the memory.

"But besides the flowers, there were butterflies,“ Eggsy smirks when he hears his sister squeal. ”Lots an’ lots of butterflies. Red ones, white ones an’ some even had spots. I saw a few that were so beautiful, that it looked like some artist caught them an’ painted their wings individually…”

“I’d like to see that.”

“You will,” Eggsy hugs her closer. “I’ll take you to tha same field one day, I promise.”

He hears movement from the other bed and looks over to find the outline of his mother’s sad smile. She’d tell him not to make such promises as their current lives weren’t suited for impromptu trips to the countryside for picnics. If he couldn’t keep his promises then he knew Daisy’s heart would break, so Eggsy stubbornly continued to promise his mother and sister aspects of a happier life, telling himself he _will_ make them a reality.

He promised them a proper house with a small garden his favourite little flower could play in while their mother had afternoon tea. He promised dresses of silk and cotton in any colour they imagined, adorned with ribbons, lace, and floral patterns. He promised Daisy a pet, perhaps even a horse she could learn to ride. He promised to earn enough so their mother could choose not to work or pick a job she enjoyed.

Eggsy was a fool for promising all of that yet couldn’t help but dream that one day he’d have a life like that again. Because once his family had all that when his father was still alive and their studio hadn’t turned into a pile of ashes.

He’d lost a father but gained a sister, and he hoped that his family of three could build their life to resemble the one Eggsy so fondly remembers from his childhood days.

A moment passes and Eggsy realizes that Daisy was fast asleep. His mother also had her eyes closed and was breathing steadily. Soon he’s dozing off too.

With the background of dogs barking from somewhere down the street, Eggsy falls asleep, hoping he’d receive pleasant dreams instead of his usual nightmares.

\--

The fireplace had been crackling for hours, filling the private study with calmness and warmth in contrast to the cool evening on the other side of a curtained window. The homely atmosphere did no good to ease his nerves as the man looked upon the mess of police accounts, scribbled footnotes and blurry photos laid out on the top of his writing desk.

He picks up one of the photos, squinting at the poorly photographed crime scene and ends up tossing it back on the papers with a heavy sigh. He rubs his face, tired, then puts his glasses back on and focuses on finishing the task at hand.

Thank goodness he’d been present at the scene of crime or forming this report would have been even more challenging than it already was. These weren’t the worst accounts he’d ever seen, it’s the hastily added footnotes that irritated him so much. Has he aged to become more pedantic or were the constables of today just too moronic to carry out their basic duties?

The murder of a noble always ends up being a troubling matter, affecting the upper, middle and lower classes just in different ways. The ones holding titles would demand justice and surround themselves with protection. Shopkeepers, merchants and other members of the small middle class could even dive into mass hysteria over the fear of being an easier target than the aristocrats they catered for.

And the lower class? They didn’t feel fear. An occasional display of pity might’ve appeared here and there but most of them weren’t as sympathetic. A nobleman’s death often brought them satisfaction, the pleasant knowledge that no matter how much money you owned – a simple man could break in and kill you just as easy as a cook could end a bird when preparing a poultry dish.

Some take the news of a nobleman’s murder as an opportunity to show one’s strength. Members of the lower class assemble into groups, give their gangs a name, and terrorize the foggy streets of London to compensate for being used as the lowest class in their society’s structure.

Which, of course, creates more troubles for the people in charge of order. He would not bat an eye if those groups of criminals targeted a member of the upper class that deserved such harassment, however, most victims of such gangs were weaker people from their own social standing. Page after page of ordinary citizen names have gone through his hands each year and all he could do was add them to a gang’s statistic.

His employers didn’t see the significance of an occasional citizen killing done by gangs. Sometimes he thought he’d be of more help as a night watchman stationed in the streets. His superiors wouldn’t allow it. They needed his skills for their own ploys and plans, leaving him to hate his employers and grumble at the only people that could help the masses.

However, this was a nobleman’s murder. Lord Martin Bagley was a well-known socialite as well as a political enthusiast. His views were not blasphemous and his personal life, though a bit scandalous, hadn't established him as a threat to the upper-class society. His death as a nobleman was important yet it looked as if the inspectors tripped over themselves in a hurry to get out of the crime scene. It was clear the police were doing a poor job even when the one killed was a man with a title.

Leaving out crucial details like a description of the room the body was found in and the items surrounding the victim was unacceptable. People focused on the body itself, finding the route of the killer and questioning witnesses, if there was any. And all of that was important, however, glossing over the details could make the process of the killer’s identification longer or even deprive inspectors of the key to solve the murder. Was he just being a bitter dogmatist?    

The number of constables and inspectors had increased greatly over the years yet most of them lacked proper training, something he was happy to help with but couldn’t offer because of his current situation.

He had to write a letter about this or at least reason with the head of recruitment next time a major function will take place.

A few knocks at his door inform him of a visitor. He drags his tired eyes up at the entrance and finds himself frowning at the man behind his opened door. “It’s already so late. I thought ye retired for the night.”

“Far too busy, I’m afraid,” The other man answers instead of a greeting and closes the door behind himself, walking over with a strangely-wrapped parcel in his hands. “And you? Working late accompanied by such terrible lighting. No wonder you're as blind as a bat.”

He scowls at him from behind steel frames. “Are ye done mocking me? I’ve got a report to-” Before he can finish, his colleague tosses the strangely-shaped item onto the writing desk.

“Put it elsewhere! I have work to do,” He scolds the other male, pulling out papers from under what he hesitated to call an ordinary parcel.

“You’ll leave it once you’ve seen what’s inside,” He points to the wrapped paper with his chin, urging him to open it. The tone he used was serious, reminding the other man of their meetings with the one they called King.

Still a bit hesitant, he listens and untangles the thread holding the packaging together. The first thing his eyes see is something wan and solid, resembling a wodge of white clay. His expression shifts when he notices what’s on both ends of the object put in front of him.

Alarmed, he looks up at his friend. “Who did this belong to…?”

“They do not know,” He shakes his head, his eyes remorseful. “However, there is talk of one other piece like this found upstream.”

The wood cracks as it burns, the sound clear in the grim silence the two had fallen into. His friend was telling the truth. The unfinished report was of no importance in comparison to what laid in front of him.

“Have we been given a new mission?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” The standing man nods.

“I see,” He accepts the news and moves to rewrap the parcel. He’d had enough of looking at it. A hunch told him he’ll have many other occasions to look at something like this in his near future. “What do they want us to do?”

“Travel to East London at our earliest convenience. An inspector will meet us there.”

“I will need some time to gather the things we might need," He announces and stands up to find a travel bag. "…Are ye leaving it here?” He points at the parcel when his colleague turned towards the door.

“You won’t examine it?”

“Aye, but now is not the proper time. We're expected and I dinnae want to leave it here…It might ruin the documents.”

“Then I will ask Drew to put it somewhere better until our return,” He says understandingly and picks up the parcel. “I'll be waiting by the rear exit.”

“I will join ye shortly.”

“Oh, and bring a coat. The weather is too harsh for a meeting this late at night.”

He’s left to gather the things they’ll need. The fire continues crackling as he moves around the study, focusing on getting ready as soon as possible. Before leaving the study he grabs a poker and some water to extinguish the fire. Finally, he found his coat and flat cap to shield him from the mizzle he heard just outside the window.

Picking up his bag he readies himself for another sleepless night.    

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after almost a month. Hopefully now I' ll have a bit more time to write. Also, I'd like to mention that as your read this, the next chapter is already finished. I'll do the same thing for the rest of the chapters, so it'll be easier to form the plot.
> 
> This chapter starts with a scene set in the past (it's all in italics)
> 
> •Bobby - a police officer

_The air in here was slightly damp and smelled of something acidic. Eggsy pushed aside the nauseous feeling in his stomach and scooted further, pressing his swollen cheek against the cool, wooden leg of the table he was hiding under._

_Time and time again he was told not to come here but a closed off room like this was just what Eggsy needed to hide in for an hour or two. He’d stay here at least until he manages to calm himself._

_Lucky for him there was no blood, only a lasting buzz of pain that hurt horribly when touched. Even though pressing it to the table leg hurt, Eggsy welcomed the chilly surface while the rest of his body slowly calmed down, the anger and urgency fading. His feet felt numb, tired from all that running._

_He’d run quite far home and up the stairs. Eggsy only hoped he was fast enough for them to lose sight of him, though he wouldn’t be surprised if a furious parent would come knocking at their door in the near future. If that does happen, Eggsy figures he can avoid the confrontation hiding in here._

_As his breaths even, he feels himself being lulled to sleep. Was he that tired after running so much? He gave into it without a second thought and moved his cheek from the damp surface, leaning back against the wall behind him._

_He hears footsteps just outside the door that undoubtedly belonged to his worried mother. She calls out for him. He doesn’t answer, just waits for her to pass and prays she won’t scold him for running into the house like a mad man._

_It wasn’t his fault anyway. He was just playing when those boys robbed him of his toy after Eggsy refused to share. He would’ve shared, mind you, if not for the fact that the boys were notorious for asking to share a toy and never giving it back. Louis from down the street already lost marbles, skipping rope and a small kite to them. His parents didn’t even believe him, asking why two boys that old would steal children’s toys and refrained from buying him anything else._

_Eggsy didn’t want such a thing for himself, so he refused them to share his wooden soldier. He hadn’t expected them to hit him of all things._

_He sat there on the ground, cupping his swelling cheek, as the two boys laughed over him. A few other kids watched the scene unravel in silence, not wanting to redirect the bullies’ wrath upon themselves by interfering. That left Eggsy completely alone to protect himself against the two boys._

_Maybe they would’ve finished laughing and walked away with the toy and left Eggsy alone if not for his childish pride. Looking back at it now, if he had a chance to go back to that moment, Eggsy would still choose to kick them in the shin and crotch; their expressions were worth his swollen cheek._

_The only thing Eggsy regretted was getting startled by an adult’s scream and running away, leaving his toy soldier to lie by the two bullies still rolling in pain._

_This darkroom was a haven compared to what he thought was brewing outside of it. He hears footsteps from above, presumably his mother who was looking for him in the studio upstairs. Eggsy felt guilty for hiding from her like this, certain that he was digging a bigger hole for himself with every call he ignored._

_To put it simply, he was scared, more of his parents’ reaction than those bullies._

_Behind the door, Eggsy hears footsteps again. He waits for them to pass, thinking his mother won’t check his hiding place, when the person stops and opens the door. In a rush to hide himself completely, Eggsy presses his back against the wall and draws his knees to his chest, bumping his head against the table in the process._

_“Ow,” Eggsy whines in pain and puts a hand on the second injury he’d gotten that day._

_“Eggsy?” Calls out a male voice._

_Eggsy freezes at the sound of his father’s voice and is left with no place to run as his father strides towards the table._

_“I told you not to come here. There are chemicals and-” His father falls silent the second he crouches down and sees Eggsy’s face. “…Wot happened?”_

_Eggsy doesn’t answer right away and this makes his father even more concerned. He reaches out to touch Eggsy’s cheek but the boy flinches back at the contact._

_“Who did this to you?”_

_“…There were two boys…They come around when we play…They took away my soldier an’ I-I got punched because I wanted it back.”_

_“Is this about wot happened to Louis?” Trying his hardest not to cry, Eggsy nods. “Oh, Eggsy…” His father frowns, sitting back on his heels and spreading his arms. “Come here.”_

_A bit hesitant at first, Eggsy crawls from under the table and into his father’s embrace. He presses his healthy cheek against his father’s chest as the man strokes his head to calm his son._

_“…Sorry,” Eggsy apologizes with a sniffle._

_“Don’t be,” He says. “There is nothin’ you should be sorry for. None of wot happened is your fault.”_

_Eggsy doesn't mention the kicks he gave his two bullies. “But…mum…”_

_“She’ll understand eventually. An’ I will reason with anyone who comes searchin’ for you. So don’t be afraid to tell us if somethin’ like this happens again, alright?”_

_“Yes.” Nods Eggsy._

_“Good,” He smiles, pleased. “Now, how about we head downstairs and find somethin’ for that bruise? We still need to show your mum.” At the mention of her, Eggsy leans back to look up at him anxiously. “No. No, we need to tell her wot happened. She’s worried sick,” When Eggsy averts his gaze and doesn’t answer, his father tries again. “Look at me,” He waits until Eggsy lifts his eyes up at him. “Your mother an’ I are here to protect you, Eggsy. We are both here to protect you. There’s nothin' you can do to make us not love you anymore, let alone a fight with some boys. An’ if your mum gets angry, I promise to be on your side. I will always be with you. Do you understand?” Eggsy wraps his arms around the man’s neck. He nods, face buried into his shoulder. His father chuckles. “Well then,” Carefully, he rises to his feet and carries Eggsy out the darkroom. “You can leave all tha talkin' to me.” He presses a palm against the back of Eggsy’s head protectively and begins descending the stairs._

_Just as feared, the mother is in hysterics when she climbs down to find the two treating Eggsy’s cheek._

 

* * *

 

 

The old springs protest loudly as Eggsy sits up in his bed. It wasn’t a nightmare yet not quite a pleasant dream either. Not to Eggsy at least.

He rubs his face and exhales. The room was lighter than in the evening but carried a grey hue, typical for a cloudy morning. His mother and sister were still asleep – Michelle gently snoring on her side and Daisy curled up into herself, resembling a kitten.

Eggsy cranes his head to look through the window and finds that some of the other house tenants could already be seen starting their day and walking down the street. It was still early but no more considered an ungodly hour.

Making sure not to brush against his still sleeping sister, Eggsy manoeuvres around her and gets up to wash his face and gather his clothes.

The room is quiet as he gets ready, save for the floor creaks and the sound of a door closing downstairs. He already thought of slipping away unnoticed when a voice calls out to him.

“Mmm, where are you goin’?” Eggsy looks over to find his mother’s drowsy eyes open.

“To buy somethin’ for breakfast,” Eggsy whispers back and resumes getting ready.

“Do you have-”

“Got some yesterday,” He answers and pulls out the half-empty gin bottle from under his bed. “This too. Decided to drop this off as half of this month’s rent,” He explains.

Michelle blinks at the bottle then up at Eggsy. “Come back before we leave.”

“I’ll try,” Eggsy gives her a tight smile and grabs his cap.

The upstairs of the house is quiet as Eggsy makes his way to the ground floor and heads towards their landlady’s room. On the other side of an old, discoloured door Eggsy heard loud snoring. He knocks once, twice then a third time, a bit harder, and takes a step back to wait.  He hears a grunt and the sound of old springs.

“What do you want?!” The door opens to reveal a groggy-looking spinster with a poisonous glare. Her sense of propriety forgotten, she stands before Eggsy with her hair dishevelled and her night garments on full display, surprising him by how intimidating she could look just out of bed.

It was clear that no words could excuse him waking her up so suddenly, so Eggsy decides to save his breath and go straight to the point.

“For you,” He hands her the bottle as calmly as he could, desperate not to anger the woman any further. “I’ll gather tha rest of our sum by tha end of next week.”

His words, however, fall on deaf ears. The spinster takes the bottle from him and spends a good minute determining if what’s inside was simple gin or was there _something else_ added to the bottle.

“…Is that alright?” He asks once the woman decided it was good enough to drink. She turns to him, not following the conversation, and grabs the door’s handle. “Then, as I said, we’ll try to get tha money by tha end of-”

She ends their conversation by slamming the door shut right in his face. Then again Eggsy thought it was more of a monologue; a conversation required an actual effort from her part as well.

It was too early for this interaction to set the mood for the rest of the day, or so Eggsy hoped. Leaving the bitter woman to get on with her drinking, Eggsy turns around and says goodbye to Ryan’s mother on his way out.

The morning air was as chilly as he left it the night before, despite it being early May. Sliding his hands into his pockets, Eggsy could only hope the weather would improve as rain and foggy mornings like this were not that common for the lovely last month of spring.

Just to be safe, he decides to go to a different marketplace from the one he frequented. He didn’t know if there were so little people he passed on his way there because of the hour or because they were hidden by the fog past the end of the street.

He walks by the sellers and merchants with their filling stalls of spring-brought goods of fruit and vegetables. The people around him hurry to organise their stalls before a larger number of buyers arrive to do the shopping for their masters and families.

A few narrow passages later Eggsy finds the stall he needed – a wide stand offering baked goods to its customers, just outside the bakery. The seller with an aquiline nose chatted away with a blushing maid on her errands before finally helping Eggsy with his purchase. The man grumbles as Eggsy chose the cheapest loaf out on display and tried to convince the maid to stay as he bundled up the bread in several-month-old-newspaper.

The loaf was still warm and Eggsy wanted it to stay that way by putting it under his jacket. It felt bulky but the warmth overweighted the slight discomfort.

His eyes catch a glimpse of a constable behind a flower stall while the man with an aquiline nose handed Eggsy his purchase. The market was always a place of chaos and congestion during the day, even known for vendors fighting for rule over the market, so a single officer stationed on an early morning didn’t surprise Eggsy that much. The man probably arrived before his day shift to get a head start and grab an Eccles cake, of which smell drew more and more people to a stall near the lamppost.    

Even so, the crime Eggsy committed just yesterday at another marketplace had left him feeling uneasy. The odds of the officer knowing who Eggsy is and what he had done were rather slim. A guilty man’s paranoia, however, could lead to self-destruction.

Eggsy tries to push aside the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach and instead focuses to blend in, appearing like he was just another customer walking home from his trip to the market.

And it seemed to work. The constable didn’t even pay any mind to Eggsy as the younger made his way around various stalls. Relief washed over Eggsy just to distract the boy, making him bump into an elderly woman carrying baskets full of spring flowers.

Upon impact, the old woman yelps in surprise and trips forward, falling down along with her baskets.

“Watch where ya goin’!” She tuts with a thick accent, crawling up on her knees in order to stand up.

“I’m so sorry,” Eggsy rushes to help her stand but gets waved away by another displeased grunt.

“I may have shrunk but I am not invisible,” She scolds him and looks down at her skirt, where the bottom of it was now dirtied by the wet pavement. The woman glances up at him disapprovingly.

Now that she was off the ground, Eggsy crouched down to gather the baskets and flowers.

“I know, sorry,” Eggsy apologises again, mentally kicking himself for running into a person dressed in all black and with a colourful array of flowers that made her stand out even more. Coupled with his exchange with the landlady, it seemed like today was just not his day. “Here, your flowers-”

“Ye broke tha stems,” She mumbles over a small bundle of peonies. “Reckless, wot am I to do with these now? Nobody will want ‘em,” The woman sighs with tiredness.

“I-” A joyous greeting of a vendor makes Eggsy look up to see the same constable passing a stall owner, giving a small nod to the man as he was making his way towards where Eggsy and the woman stood.

Eggsy goes rigid as soon as he locks eyes with the policeman, and his heart sank when upon eye contact the officer visibly quickened his pace.

“Oi! Come back here!” The old woman calls after Eggsy when the boy takes off running. Soon, the constable’s voice joins in too, yelling for Eggsy to stop, assuming theft.

Perhaps before it could’ve been handled peacefully, with Eggsy explaining what happened and possibly finding an excuse to go home without further questioning. _Now_ , thanks to his decision to flee the scene, he had ruined any chances he had of getting home undetected.

The policeman is persistent, tailing Eggsy up until he makes a sharp turn and runs out of an alley and into a street by the riverside.

Not to attract the pedestrian’s attention, Eggsy slows down to a pace that could be considered one fit for a worker running late, and hurries to turn a corner past a pub in front. Just to make sure, he glances behind him to confirm he’s not followed.

A shop owner sweeping notices Eggsy’s haste, narrowing his eyes as the youth passes him with a shaky “Good morn.” Finally, Eggsy reaches the pub’s corner and turns, eager to get out from under the shopkeeper’s watchful gaze-

Eggsy turns back and leans flat against the wall. The shopkeeper stares at him surprised as Eggsy risks a glance around the corner.

There, further ahead stood a policeman. Was it the same one Eggsy tried to outrun? He couldn’t quite tell. The officer had his back turned to Eggsy and was talking to a woman, which was pointing in the direction Eggsy was hiding.

If it was the same officer, Eggsy couldn’t risk walking past him. After a few seconds of thinking, he settles on an alternative route.

The shopkeeper watches Eggsy walk past him again and this time head towards a narrow pass between two houses. Here Eggsy had less chance of being spotted but walked ahead knowing he might find himself facing a dead end, meaning he would be forced to go back to the street with an officer and a shop owner, who could now identify the boy if asked.

And indeed he found himself facing one. Past three burly men and a boy, Eggsy blindly turns twice and comes to a stop in front of empty crates and a wooden fence that closed off the alleyway from a street up ahead. To add to his laughable situation, Eggsy soon hears the four men start walking his way, their intentions hushed but clear.

Forced to think of an alternative route yet again, Eggsy stacks the crates, climbs and mounts the top of the fence just as his assailants come into view. Seeing their wide eyes, Eggsy smiles and kicks the crates, making the majority of them fall and break after colliding with the ground. With no way back he twists himself and jumps off onto the street.

In front of himself, Eggsy saw Thames, on his sides – an empty street.

Well, not as empty as he’d like, considering there was an officer stationed on both ends of the street. One at the market, one around the corner, now two at the end of a riverside street on patrol; by now Eggsy felt as if they were multiplying.

Cursing himself, thinking all this bad luck was divine punishment for his petty crime, Eggsy makes sure the two policemen weren’t looking his way and goes forward to slink away using the riverside pathway.

He walks in hurried silence, hidden by the stone wall of the riverside path when he’s forced to stop. In front, he sees the space beneath a bridge with an open sewer grate entrance. Past the bridge, on the stony edge, sat a sleepy angler murmuring answer to the two policemen questioning him.

By this point, Eggsy was sure that the streets were littered with policemen for reasons unknown. He did not need to know the reason why each turn Eggsy took had been blocked by an officer. What he needed was to find a way to pass those men and reach home before his mother and sister left for the day.

With no way back, Eggsy pulls his cap lower and starts walking towards the bridge.

Each step was heavy but firm. He will be stopped and questioned, of that Eggsy was sure. Curiosity did make him wonder why officers were talking with an angler at the riverside on such an early morning. Then again, the less he knew – the better for him.

Eggsy steps into the shadow of the bridge, keeping his steps steady as he approached the other side of it. Coming closer to the three men, Eggsy could finally make out bits of their conversation.

“…yesterday?”

“No, sir-”

“And where were you last evening?”

“At the docks, sir-”

“Was there anyone suspicious?-”

Bits of gravel crunch under Eggsy’s shoes when he suddenly stops. Memories of yesterday fill Eggsy’s mind as the policeman in front continues asking questions about the docks.

He never expected the police too work so quickly. Dean’s gang’s former robberies were seen to after four or five days, normal when considered how many crimes the city of London goes through on a daily basis. But to think that the city’s police was lacking serious cases that they chose to solve a burglary of three books the very next day was unheard of. Eggsy would go on and warn his stepfather of such a meticulous police novelty if not for the fact that he hated Dean and his gang.

Soon came the realisation that instead of finding a way through the less crowded outlines of the city, Eggsy had unknowingly walked into an unintentional trap.

Behind him were several stony steps that lead to a street patrolled by policemen, in front – two officers and an old man trying to fish. Near was an open sewer entrance, decent for a getaway but rather dark, revolting and with no clear way of out of it. Relatively speaking, he had no proper way out…Unless Eggsy would muster up the courage to jump into the river and risk drowning.

In a second the decision was made for him. The tell-tale of shoes brings his attention to another officer hidden by one of the bridge’s support beams. The man didn’t seem to have noticed Eggsy and continued to watch the stream, neglecting his duties as a guard. The slightest shift in his posture convinces Eggsy to turn away and run into the sewer to find a way back through a sewer cover or drain.

Setting a foot inside, Eggsy’s greeted by a foul stench that makes his eyes narrow. He ignores it and hurries over the trickling water and towards a small number of wooden boxes and other miscellaneous things he presumed were left by the sewer workers.

His fast pace remains as he pushes and shoves his way through the boxes with his feet. Eggsy dares a glance back to see if he was spotted and feels relieved when the entrance he just passed was still empty. His feet don’t come into contact with any more boxes, so he sets his eyes in front of himself and misses the cloth-wrapped bundle set farther away from the other things.

He trips over it but manages to recover quickly, leaning a hand on the stone wall to steady himself. Eggsy looks down, ready to glare at the dross before moving on when his eyes fall upon the item rolling out of the cloth.

In such dim light, Eggsy thinks his mind was playing tricks on him, but no. As his eyes adjust to the darkness of the sewer and the thin light cast from the entrance, Eggsy makes out the lines of what made him trip.

The bottom of the gunny cloth was soaked with mud and a dark substance that began mixing with the trickling sewage. The diffusion was a horrific sight.

The stretch of milky white had a blueish hue where it wasn’t dirtied at the sides. It was slightly bloated, it’s stench even worse than the sewer’s.

Eggsy leans into the stone wall, eyes brimming with tears brought forth not by the foul smell but by the realisation of what laid in front of him.

A human torso.

Bile threatened to claw up his throat. He covers his mouth with a trembling hand, trying his hardest to calm himself despite the shock. Thankfully, there was no scream, even though all Eggsy wanted to do was scream and run as far as his legs could carry him from this ghastly discovery.

When his nausea begins to subside, Eggsy takes in a shaky breath, rubbing at the cold sweat on his temple to distract himself. His body still shook, but his mind was already coming to terms with the grisly reality.

Poor thing, nobody deserved such a gruesome end. Was the killer still at large? Were all those officers Eggsy saw a part of a murder investigation or did Eggsy stumble upon the remains of some poor soul without the police even knowing of this?

With each passing minute, it became easier to breathe but also harder to decide on his further actions. He couldn’t pick it up and hand it to the police. Eggsy would become a witness if not a suspect. Either way, it would guarantee a report to be written with his name memorised and added to the Scotland Yard archives.

But what kind of person would he be to just leave it here to rot until someone else comes and finds it? The area around was booming with bobbies on every corner yet a secluded place like this could mean the remains would stay for several days if not weeks. Judging from the rotting flesh, it already has been some time since the murder.

With a heavy heart, Eggsy takes a hesitant step forward. His rationality had won, no matter how much he’ll regret his choice later.

Up close it looked even more horrid. Flakes of dried blood could be seen where the flesh was cut off from the rest of the body. A small chunk of spine jutted out where the collarbone should be, darkened by mud and blood. The top left half of the woman's chest looked like it was ripped off by an animal; An animal was certainly what Eggsy would call the person who did such a thing.

“I wish you find justice…” Eggsy says softly and leans over to try and cover the body part, giving it what little dignity a dirty cloth could offer.

And that’s when he hears them. The voices.

Not from the outside of the sewer but the _inside_.

At first, Eggsy thinks he’s mistaken. He thinks it’s an echo from the people outside the sewer entrance, joining the sounds of the occasional rat squeak and running water.

No, those were voices from somewhere near, growing closer by the second.

Worried, Eggsy steps deeper into the sewer, thinking one of the officers outside decided to look around the underground conduit. He manages to take only a few steps forward when he becomes aware that he was walking _towards_ the voices. Eggsy has no time to react when the owners of those voices walk out one of the many sewer tunnels and come to a stop in front of him.

Before Eggsy stood two men, middle-aged, dressed in such a way that hinted at a higher social standing. The taller male wore glasses, a flat cap, caped overcoat, and carried a leather bag common to doctors. The slightly shorter male’s brown hair was still damp from the weather, a hint of sideburns peeked from behind his coat’s high collar, and he held a closed umbrella.

The pair stares at Eggsy for a moment before moving towards him faster than Eggsy though any other man their age ever could.

“Who are you?” The brunet asks with caution.

Instead of answering Eggsy notices the white glove stained with blood on the taller man’s hand. It makes Eggsy push himself off the wall and sprint towards the sewer entrance, streets littered with officers be damned.

For the second time on the same day, Eggsy was forced to escape his pursuer, this time afraid not only to get caught but possibly _killed_ too.

The boxes and dross Eggsy previously walked through slowed him down enough for one of them to catch up. The taller man drops his bag and the bloodied glove in hopes of grabbing Eggsy. Within seconds Eggsy’s arms are twisted behind his back, luckily, Eggsy frees himself of the other’s hold and uses his height to dodge a headlock. Both men appeared to be surprised. Eggsy wastes no time to put as much distance as he can in those short few minutes of shock.

“Why must they always run?” Says the brunet, exasperated, as he and his partner begin running to catch up. Eggsy’s shorter stature gives them an advantage and soon the taller was within a reaching distance from Eggsy’s jacket.

The sewer entrance was coming up and Eggsy squints from the light outside compared to the darkness of the sewer. He hurries down the narrow steps of the entrance and speeds up towards the riverside pathway that had brought him into this mess. The two officers patrolling one street he could pass by with no hassle, it’s the two men running after him that Eggsy worried about.

_Just a little further_ , He told himself. As fast as they proved themselves to be, Eggsy was sure that two gentlemen their age were no match for his own stamina. Just a little more and he’ll be on his way home. Maybe he’ll be able to see Daisy munch on the bread he bought while their mother got ready to leave for work.

However, his dreams of a peaceful breakfast were crushed by a feeling of being pushed down. Eggsy manages an embarrassed yelp before gravel was digging into his cheek, rough hands were twisting his arms behind his back at such an angle, that made it feel like they’d break any second now.

He was caught but not defeated. Or so Eggsy though when he kicked behind himself to break free, only to get a sharper twist of his arms and a knee pressed to the base of his spine, both which made Eggsy groan in pain and discomfort. Much to his dismay, Eggsy was forced to stay put.

“Excellent work,” A breathless voice praises from somewhere behind Eggsy. Soon the brunet from the sewer walks in front of Eggsy, smoothing down his hair left slightly dishevelled from the chase.

“Sir!” The officers run from the angler to where Eggsy was pushed to the ground. “What seems to be the problem? Is he the culprit?” He motions to Eggsy.

“No!” Eggsy answers.

“We don’t know,” The brunet shakes his head at the officer, ignoring Eggsy’s reply. “We found him where we left the torso. It would seem that he wanted to take a better look.”

“What a sick thing to do,” One of the two officers shudders. “Who could look at that monstrosity? That must mean he _is_ the culprit!”

Eggsy lifts his head, wanting to insult the officer for obviously jumping to conclusions, but is pushed back to the ground by his captor.

“While I could see that being true, I would like to determine what was his exact business in the sewer,” The brunet offers the man a polite smile, his voice letting Eggsy know that he thought similarly of the officer. “Now,” Eggsy sees the tip of the brunet’s umbrella and shifts his eyes up to meet the older man’s steady gaze. “I suggest fixing this misunderstanding as soon as possible. State your name and business here.”

To no one’s surprise, Eggsy keeps his mouth shut.

“I repeat, _name_ and _why_ you ended up here.”

Another moment of silence drags on before Eggsy feels the knee on his spine applying more pressure.

“…Market…” He groans and soon sighs in relief once the pressure is gone. “…I went back after gettin’ bread…”

“I would assume people used the streets to get home. Why a sewer?”

“Not a sewer,” Eggsy glares. “…I took tha pathway as a shortcut. Got sick of bobbies loitering around, so I stepped in to wait until they left.”

“In the sewer?” The brunet arches an eyebrow.

“Yes, in tha sewer,” Eggsy insists in hopes they’d believe his thinning lie.

“Now, why would someone be so afraid to meet an officer that you decide to hide in an open sewer?” The question insinuated something that hit too close to home for Eggsy’s comfort.

“A thief would hide,” supplies one of the officers. Eggsy could feel his fists itch with want to hit him.

Deciding to play along, the man in front dips his umbrella and uses its tip to push aside the dirty lapel of Eggsy’s jacket. Tucked in the large breast pocket, he sees bread rolled up in a newspaper.

“I bought it!” Eggsy snaps as if reading the man’s inner thoughts.

The man says nothing, just lifts his eyes from the bundle and stares at Eggsy’s angry features. It was clear that there were inconsistencies in Eggsy’s story, which paired with the boy’s suspicious behaviour meant Eggsy had no chance of a peaceful escape. If he won’t be able to get himself out of this situation, judging from the way things were going, he’d be questioned, thrown in jail or even hanged.

“Mr Hart, sir, we can take him off your hands,” The first officer steps forward to pierce the tense silence. “You must be exhausted after such a long night. Perhaps we could bring him in for questioning and notify you as soon as we have a written confession-”

“And if he is innocent?” The brunet cuts him off, surprising the policemen along with Eggsy. There was little hope that this Mr Hart truly believed that Eggsy was innocent. His liberal view on Eggsy’s possible role in this, on the other hand, was admirable.

“Innocent?” Asks the other officer.

“Yes, what if what he says is true?”

The two policemen share a look of confusion. “But sir, surely you don’t think his statement is plausible.”

“His statement stands until proven to be false. Seeing as you are keen to end this investigation without assessing the clues properly, my colleague and I would be happy to do the questioning for you.” Hart finishes his offer with a smile that told he had already made up his mind.

The two law enforcers didn’t look pleased. Instead, they met the man’s smile with sour expressions. “No, I insist,” Continues the first officer.

“We will contact you once a report is done. If that is all, we will leave you to your own work,” The brunet dismisses the two with a nod at the same time as Eggsy hears a huff from the man holding him to the ground.

With no warning at all, Eggsy feels his captor lean back and pull Eggsy along with him.

“Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to let us borrow a pair of manacles? I seem to have left my own at home.”

Eggsy had to refrain from chuckling. Usually, he loathed people who used their social standing on others. Oddly enough, this Mr Hart, in particular, made Eggsy change sides. Despite the man’s -or rather his _companion’s -_ grip on Eggsy, the brunet seemed to hold competence above the obvious hints at Eggsy’s criminal background. Eggsy would call the man a fool if not for his attitude towards the two bobbies just itching to toss Eggsy into the nearest cell.

Eggsy was a fool himself for enjoying the exchange instead of doing something about his situation getting worse. With the two officers, Eggsy could trick them and escape but with the brunet and his friend, it wouldn’t be that easy. He watched Eggsy like a hawk, following the younger man’s every move as if they’d be able to show Eggsy’s true intentions.

His partner wasn’t any different. As the brunet’s eyes were like that of a hawk’s, his partner served as the hawk’s talons – holding Eggsy firmly with little to no chance of breaking free.

The sound of a chain being passed over told Eggsy that he could now add another obstacle to his escape plan.

The man with glasses puts the metal cuffs around Eggsy’s wrists. One of the officers just mumbles something rude and steps aside for them to pass.

The two gentlemen don’t turn around and head back up into the street, instead, they force Eggsy back to the sewer. Eggsy assumes the detour was made to pick up what they’d dropped in order to catch him. And indeed inside Eggsy’s passed over to the brunet, who was equally as dedicated in not letting Eggsy go while the man’s partner picked up his bloodied glove, bag and even the wrapped up body part.

Now they’d head to Scotland Yard, an investigator’s office or some other police institution Eggsy dreaded to find himself in. _I have time_ , Eggsy told himself. He’s sure some idea would come up when they’ll be walking out in the streets.

That assumption proved itself to be wrong.

Once his things were gathered, the man wearing glasses walks back and comes to a stop a few steps before Eggsy. His eyes were piercing and calculating, almost hostile.

Thinking an insult was on its way, Eggsy stares back at the man head-on, searching his brain for a possible comeback.

There was no insult. The man reaches out towards Eggsy, he, in turn, readies himself to bite the hand if it dares touch his face. Instead, the man takes Eggsy’s cap’s peak between two fingers and drags it down, robbing Eggsy of his sight.

“Wot-” Was all Eggsy’s allowed to say before he’s guided forward.

“Walk,” orders the brunet, the sound of his colleague’s steps joining them momentarily.

He couldn’t see where they headed to, although the sound of water and the lingering stench made it obvious wherever it may be, it was _deeper down the sewer_. Eggsy was left to continue through the darkness, feeling like an animal being led to a slaughterhouse. A bit dramatic, but then again, he had no clue where they were taking him or what was their plan.

The two exchanged a few words now and then, most of which Eggsy had to listen to without much context given.

“-Must ye act so obvious?” Asks an irritated voice.

“Sweetening up to a sent official in hopes of a recommendation letter is understandable. I know that connections are key in this day and age,” Eggsy hears the man behind him say. ”However, I will _not_ humour him while some madman could still be out there, killing civilians as if they were cattle! I reckon a lost life is of more importance than another officer’s promotion…” He finishes with a huff.

Eggsy hears something shuffling from his right that is soon followed by a heavy sigh. “Aye,” Says the other. “…Poor thing.”

“Indeed…” Comes a glum reply.

The three walk on in silence. Eggsy almost wished they started talking again, his thoughts were getting unbearably loud. Judging from their exchange, Eggsy didn’t think they saw him as the killer, but they also didn’t rule him out. He went through several different ideas of how to advance his story and not be convicted for the woman’s murder…

…And the woman…Eggsy selfishly hoped that the victim had no family or at least has been estranged. Sadness overcame Eggsy when he thought about how her possible family would react to such a gruesome death of a loved one. She was somebody’s daughter, friend, perhaps a sister, a wife, maybe even a mother.

Now she was gone and disposed of in one of the most horrendous ways imaginable while the culprit was still at large. That thought was even scarier.

       

    

 

                       

                  

  

 

 

 

       

   

           

    

   

        

      


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update a few days earlier since the last time I posted. I want to write quicker but with working on two fics at the same time it's a bit of a handful.
> 
> I'm also feeling uneasy with not calling Harry and Merlin by their names for the sake of the story. The next chapter will be the last one I do that in, I swear. 
> 
> •Visiting card - A small paper card with a person's name, a message of a greeting often used through out 18-19th century Europe and America for social purposes, often to be left at friends' or acquaintances' homes as a form of social standing. They fell out of fashion and were replaced by the modern business cards.

They walked for what felt like hours. In reality, it’d been around half an hour, maybe more.

Eggsy anticipated more pushing and shoving. None came. If anything, at times his two captors told him to turn, warned Eggsy of debris he could fall over or used a calm tone to instruct him. He bit back the comment of them being unusually friendly compared to how a common officer dealt with Eggsy’s kind. Then again, Eggsy gave them no further reason to be handled roughly, deciding to save the effort for when he could see again.

By now he was used to the stench and the sounds of dripping and an occasional rat squeak. That didn’t mean the foul smell didn’t make his eyes water. The rats too were starting to get on his nerves.

He wondered if the two men were used to this type of environment. Remembering how they were dressed, the thought seemed stupid. Still, any other gentleman of their social standing would probably be fed up with the filth and rats by this point. Eggsy had to admit, the pair was full of surprises.

“Here we are,” The man behind Eggsy declared and stopped with him in tow. The man with glasses went ahead and a moment later Eggsy heard chains…and a door being opened?

“Mind yer step,” Says the other and comes to a stop somewhere in front of Eggsy. Was he holding the door?

Carefully, Eggsy brought his right foot forward and patted to see if there was a step. He wondered why they didn’t just push his cap back so he could see where to put his feet.

Finding a stair, Eggsy went over it, brushing past someone’s shoulder in the process. Huh, must’ve been a narrow archway. Eggsy repeats the action, finding no more stairs.

“That’s it,” came a dismissive voice from his left. Caught in the moment Eggsy nods and waits for one of the two to guide him further.

They exited the sewer, that was clear. What confused Eggsy was that they weren’t back in the streets. No, under his feet were floorboards instead of wet cobblestone, if the creak of wood was anything to go by. It also felt warmer than the outside, drier too.

Soon Eggsy feels himself being guided forward and to the left. He heard curtains being drawn back right as a hand on his shoulder forces him down and into what felt like a leather armchair.

One of the two men pulls at the chain joining Eggsy’s locked wrists and somehow secures it between the armrest and cushion. Satisfied, the man in front of him pushes back Eggsy’s hat, finally restoring his sight.

Eggsy starts blinking at the sudden light compared to the prolonged darkness of his cap shaved over his eyes and sees the blurry image of his two captors moving around the room.

When the blurriness is gone, Eggsy realises it was not just a room but a spacious study. Two of the four walls were lined with tall, mahogany bookshelves full of books and small knick-knacks. The ceiling was almost as tall as the small two-story boarding house Eggsy and his family lived in. There was a fireplace behind the desk, with beautifully carved ornaments outlining the half-burned wood left inside.

The desk itself was littered with books and stray papers. Almost all of the furniture – desk, chairs, shelves, short tables were mahogany aside from the couch by the window and the wooden bar tucked in a corner by the wide door. The lightest accents of the room were a few paintings with shiny frames here and there as well as a cream and pastel green coloured rug placed at the study’s centre.

Eggsy was actually glad he was sat in an armchair placed _not_ on the rug. He’d feel guilty to dirty such a gorgeous thing with his shoes still caked in sewer grime. Then again, by the looks of how the room was furnished, Eggsy figured the two men could afford another rug like this.

“…And how are we feeling now?” Eggsy drags his eyes back to the brunet, who was now leaning back against the desk with a drink in hand, a hint of a smug smile just beginning to show. He must’ve caught the way Eggsy was looking around as if they’ve stepped into another planet than just a study right out of a sewer. “How about we try again?” He asks, taking off his overcoat and tosses it into the armchair beside Eggsy’s.

The taller of the two men had already taken off his and placed his bag, glove and the bundle of cloth on a windowsill. He draws the curtains back of the last window and then turns around, giving Eggsy an unreadable look before walking over and taking a seat behind the desk, opposite to Eggsy. The man pulls out a piece of paper and picks up an engraved fountain pen, then glances up at the brunet.

Both the bald man and the brunet look back at Eggsy. “Once more,” Speaks the latter. “ _State your name and business_.”

Eggsy takes his time before answering, taking in the two men in front of him. “…Full name?” He asks, with a bit more humour in his voice than the man with glasses seemed to like.

“A first name and surname will do. No christening name needed.” Answers the brunet with an equal tone. He held a mask of professionalism yet sounded like he was pleasantly surprised by Eggsy’s stupid way of stalling.

“Herschel Simons.”

The man with glasses hums, writing it down. Eggsy bites back a grin. Too easy.

Then the man looks back up at him calmly. “And, yer real name?”

Eggsy frowns. “I just told you-”

“No,” Declares the brunet. When Eggsy looks at him with surprise, the man just shrugs and takes a sip. “I’ve questioned hundreds before you, boy. I know a liar when I hear one.”

Eggsy gulps, hoping they wouldn’t hear it and take it as a sign that Eggsy was nervous. “Alright…” He wills himself to calm down. “Thomas Bagley.”

Another note on the paper. Another minute of waiting.

Eggsy groans. Who were these people?!

A knock on the door makes the trio turn towards it. The man wearing glasses calls for whomever it was to enter. The wide door opens revealing a man with grey hair, dressed in a butler’s uniform.

“Good morning,” Says the newcomer. His eyes find Eggsy and, after a second of staring, gives the youth a bow in greeting. Eggsy recoils, had their butler just greeted a member of the lower-class with a slight bow? Either the butler thought Eggsy was one of his masters’ guests or the elderly man had lost his mind when it came to etiquette. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”  

“Nothing of the sort!” The brunet’s voice invites him closer while his companion stands up and walks to where he left their things on the windowsill. The butler follows.

“Dinnae attempt to clean it,” The bespectacled instructs as the butler nods. Eggsy watches in horror at the two men handle the wrapped up torso like it was a chicken bought at the market.

“I will place this in the basement along with the other one,” Says the butler, puzzling Eggsy even more. “Anything else?”

“Make sure these are dried by tonight,” The brunet request as his partner folds both of their wet overcoats over the butler’s forearm. The image of him holding the dirtied bundle in his hands with both coats on his arms would be comical if not for the fact that he held a severed torso.

Did he even know what he was holding? Or was the pay just too good that he could hold onto it without showing a single sign of distress or disgust?

Good Lord, was he… Was he _used_ to this? The thought makes Eggsy’s stomach churn. Suddenly a cell looked much more pleasant than the possibility of what _they’d_ do to him.

“Thank you, Drew. That would be all,” The brunet sees him off and then returns to his spot by the desk. The taller retakes his seat too.

“I would be very grateful if you gave us your real name,” The brunet continues. The exchange just now was too smooth and mundane for the two men to not be mad, Eggsy notes.

“Honestly, wot makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

“You will if you want to be dismissed as a suspect.”

Eggsy stares up at him, grimacing. “I didn’t kill her-”

“How do ye know it was a woman?” Counters the other.

The man had a point, Eggsy can give him that. “I already explained. Tha streets were littered with bobbies an’ I wanted to get home as soon as I could. I got to tha riverside, stepped in tha sewer to wait them out. You know, tha one’s talkin’ to that fisherman. In tha sewer…” Eggsy stops, remembering. He blamed the pause on his suddenly dry throat. ”I tripped over…her because I mistook it for dross. When tha cloth was pushed aside I…It was a woman. Half of her chest was ripped off or-or sliced off but it was a woman. I’m sure of it…”

The silence that followed was weirdly reassuring. Eggsy thinks they said nothing to give him time to gather himself, but why would they care? Still, he welcomes the silence and looks up from his chained wrists only when he feels his nerves calm enough to do so.

The brunet stared back at him with a guarded yet sympathetic expression. His partner had his frown fixed on the paper. It bothered Eggsy how different they were to the common officers he’d grown accustomed to.

“Can I ask who you are?” He hears himself ask. “Inspectors? Officers from elsewhere? Policemen fancy puttin’ our kind in jail an’ then find out tha motives.”

“Something between the two,” Was all he got. “But we do have the same right to put you in a cell if refused assistance with this investigation,” The brunet crosses his arms. “I suggest you pick your next words wisely.”

“Or wot? Torture me?”

“Heavens no,” The man scoffs. “But believe me when I say, you do _not_ want to know.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes, holding back a laugh. The threat sounded too similar to an angry parent for Eggsy to take it seriously. Besides, it was entertaining to watch the brunet become more restless the longer Eggsy kept quiet. The bald man too looked restive, tapping the other side of the fountain pen on the desk, waiting.

Small victories.

“Fine, have it your way,” The brunet lets out an irritated sigh. He leans back to whisper to his colleague. “I suggest we send back for Drew to get us a blend, something strong. This might take us longer than expected,” He turns his head to study Eggsy’s knowing smile. “And start on a draft of a notice,” He sees Eggsy’s smile fade. “We can add a sketch of him later.”

No, a placard of him was the last thing he needed. A name gave little for people to go by, that is if people even knew his name. Dean’s gang often used a false name to throw off the police, so Eggsy picked up the habit. In reality, Herschel Simons had been dead for nine years but recently was questioned on his way from the docks, had a tab in the _Black Prince_ pub and was listed as a suspect in 7 different cases.

The name, like Thomas Bagley, had around eight counterparts. In a densely populated city like London forging a name wasn’t that hard.

But a face? It’s hard to change a face. People could forget a name but a face was easier to remember. His face on a public notice had more chances of him getting recognized than a random name with no face to pin it to. Eggsy might’ve just sabotaged himself.

What will his mother think? Eggsy could see it now- _They keep him for days, maybe weeks while notices are placed around town with his face on them. His mother is worried sick, asking around and visiting Scotland Yard daily to see if they found her son. She sees the notices with his face, her son accused of robbery and murder. Her heart breaks._

_Dean doesn’t mutter a word to her about it or cuts all ties to them in hopes of slipping from the police unnoticed. If cornered he’d make up all sorts of lies to make Eggsy the prime suspect, maybe even dump some of his own crimes on him._

_And Daisy. Sweet, little Daisy. Eggsy didn’t want to know how she’d react when told of her brother’s crimes. When she’d realise, her smile would disappear, her bright eyes would dim. She would never look at her brother the same way_ —

It was too much.

It would _break_ him.

His captors won. They probably didn’t even realise it yet, but they’ve won. Eggsy would rather take his chances with jail and a noose than leave this mess unexplained to his mother and sister. In jail or court, he could find a chance to speak with them, try to explain and salvage their image of him than just leave place for interpretation. People were notorious to make up their own versions when there was place left for interpretation.

Eggsy swallows around the lump in his throat.

“…Gary…” He catches their attention with a voice of a desperate man. “…Gary Unwin…”

Their reply doesn’t come right away, and when it does, it’s so quiet that Eggsy’s surprised he managed to pick up on it.

“…Why does that sound familiar?” The brunet asks himself, looking alarmed. He looks at his friend but the other is already out of his chair and rushing to the bookshelf beside him.

The man pulls out several books from one of the once neat lines of encyclopaedias, dropping them to the floor like they were worthless. Tucked in the back was a wider book with a blue, leather binding. He takes it and walks over to the brunet, opening the book and taking out a card- No, a _photograph_ – to show the other.    

The brunet’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Lee…” He whispers in realisation and Eggsy’s heart stops.

 _You know my father?_ The question was on the tip of his tongue, but Eggsy’s interrupted by the brunet storming towards him and twisting his fists in Eggsy’s jacket.

“Where did you hear it?!” He demands, leaning over Eggsy. “I know to you it’s another false name, but where did you hear it?!” Brown curls fall on his forehead as he gives Eggsy a shake. The younger tries to digest the sudden reaction.

“I…” Eggsy didn’t even know what to say. There were too many questions clouding his mind for Eggsy to offer an instant answer.  How did these people know his father? He didn’t see them even once in his family’s studio. Were they friends of his? Old acquaintances? Rivals? Perhaps even someone, who were linked to the shop being burned down?

The brunet awaits Eggsy’s answer with a face twisted in fury. Eggsy found himself gobsmacked at the glare he was given. His partner, on the other hand, looked more shocked than angry, even when the bald man tried his best to school his expression to be neutral as Eggsy looked between the two.

“We thought they left for Pembroke…” The other man looks at the photo then drags his eyes away to where his friend held Eggsy in a firm grip. “We thought they hid in Wales. To think that Michelle decided to stay in London of all places…” He shakes his head, unable to believe it. The brunet glances at him with something akin to uncertainty.

“You know my mother?” Eggsy’s stunned voice brings their eyes back on him. In the long, suffocating silence that followed he watched the two men lose the last bit of their composure. Eggsy felt the brunet’s grip on him slacken, then watched him step back.

“So this is how things are,” The other sighs, looking drained of all strength. He shuts the book, places it on the corner of the desk and lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “We use every informant we know to find them yet who we look for are right under our noses.”

“This must be a trick,” The brunet disagrees. “It must be! Years, Merlin, we were looking for _years_ and you say we were just too foolish to find them? We?”

“What else can it be?”

“Someone involved. Someone who knows of our work. You can’t possibly believe he is Lee’s child. He was at the sewer, he lied about his name. A spy is what he is.”

“ _No one is hated more than he who speaks the truth_.” Says the other, the quote sounding more grand due to his Scottish accent. He picks up his friend’s abandoned drink, downing it and looking at the now empty glass, wondering if he should refill it. Honestly, both men looked like they needed another drink.

“Don’t you _dare_ quote Plato at a time like this,” The brunet hisses. “I don’t think you understand the severity of our situation. We need to sort this mess before there are casualties…” He leans into his friend to murmur the rest. “He obviously knows something. I suggest we keep the information flow to a minimum, learn his true name and understand what he wants from us.”

“-Wot I want from you is to hear how you know my parents!” Eggsy dictates, trying his best to stop his voice from shaking. “An’ who are you? You don’t act like tha police. No simple officer takes a criminal to their study, and through tha sewer!”

The two gentlemen stare at a loss for words. Eggsy feels somewhat satisfied. It was a momentary reassurance regarding the bizarre situation he found himself in.

“…You cannot be theirs…” The brunet shakes his head softly. His face reminded Eggsy of a man haunted by his past actions. Eggsy would know, he’d seen that same expression countless times in the cracked mirror back at home.

“Only one way we can know for certain,” And with that, the taller man walks in front of the desk and slides over the pen and paper, looking at Eggsy expectantly. When the younger stays quiet, he clears his throat, awkward, and writes something down. “So…Gary Unwin, son of Michelle and Lee Unwin?” He looks up.

Eggsy laughs, exasperated. It looked like they wouldn’t stop questioning until they got what they wanted. He turns back to find them waiting patiently, faces serious.

That makes Eggsy sober up. He shifts in the chair, giving them a slight nod. “Yes…I’m their son.”

“Not to say we don’t believe you,” Says the brunet. “But I recall their son having a different name.”

“Eggsy,” He answers in a quiet voice. “A…sobriquet? Mum still uses it, almost everyone else too.”

The recognition in the man’s eyes was an odd thing. He and his colleague share a glance, during which the shorter nods for the other that it was true.

“And…” The man looks back at Eggsy, collecting himself. “How old are you, Eggsy?”

 “Twenty four.”

If their expressions were anything to go by, he’d say his captors believed him.

“A few more questions, just to make sure,” The brunet continues. “Your father’s work, what can you remember?”

“Nothin’,” Eggsy shakes his head and smiles impishly. “I don’t remember nothin’… But, I might if you answer some of _my_ questions.”

The conditions were set. They could accede or resort to threats and even torture if they wanted anything else from Eggsy. Now it was up to them.

The taller man furrows his brow, side-glancing at his friend like he wanted to warn him or ask him to leave. The brunet, in turn, thought over Eggsy’s words long and hard, nodding once when he decided to accept (much to his colleague’s dismay).

“I suppose it is only fair,” He says. “However, I cannot answer questions if they turn out to be too…personal.”

“Agreed,” Eggsy nods as well, whatever that meant. “How do you know my father?”

“Harry-” The bald man tries to reason with his friend. He ignores him.

“We were his clients.”

Eggsy arches an eyebrow. “I don’t remember seein’ you in tha studio,” Eggsy tries to remember their shop’s customers he helped in the past. There were many – newlyweds, grieving families, people wanting a portrait and Mr Febbler with his cats, but not these two. Eggsy thought he’d surely remember an odd pair of gentlemen like this.

“I’ve visited the shop now and then, but our usual business with your father consisted of, um, house visits.” The last part made the man look a bit uncomfortable to explain.

Narrowing his eyes, Eggsy asks again. “How long had you known my father? Are you close with my mother?”

“Until…the fire, we’ve known dear Lee for about three years. He was skilled in his craft, his photos as good as they can be, so we continued closely working together,” Eggsy frowns at his choice of words. “As for your mother, no we are not close. I don’t think she even remembers us that well. We’ve exchanged words once or twice over the counter, nothing more.”

“Your companion there said _years_. If you’re not close, why were you searchin’ for us?” The two men visibly stiffen.

Ah, another touchy subject, as it would seem, but not as personal as the brunet had already an answer ready.

“We heard about the fire. We…we wanted to know what happened to Lee, to the shop,” It was clear he held back from telling the entire truth. “After the fire we wanted to find you and your mother to see if you two were unharmed, to help you if needed, but you were gone. Our assumption was that Michelle had taken you to her family.”

“She doesn’t have any,” Says Eggsy. “She’s an orphan.”

The brunet chuckles. “Is that what she told you?” Eggsy stares at him, wanting to retort but finding nothing fit to use. “Quite stubborn, isn’t she? You might have gotten that from her. Still, with the fire, I thought she would put her pride aside and take you to Wales for protection if not refuge.”

“So it was arson?” The new information kindled Eggsy’s old theory into a new flame. The men, however, seemed to withdraw at his sudden enthusiasm. “Was tha fire intentional? Do you know who did it?”

“Enough,” The bald man puts an end to Eggsy’s jabber. “Four of yer questions for one of ours? That hardly seems fair.” The brunet lets himself a small sigh of relief. In seconds he’s standing straight, nodding at his friend’s words.

“Oh, fine,” Eggsy grumbles. “I give you five.”

“Why five?” Ask the brunet.

“I would give you tha same number of times I asked, but technically you asked a few times leadin' up to now, so forget wot I said. You have four.” He declares with a cheeky smile.

“You dolt, some of those were rhetorical,” The brunet stops himself. He chuckles and shakes his head, a fond look in his eyes. “Never mind. _Galahad_ and _Merlin_ , do you remember your father ever mention these names? Did he ever mention someone by the name Harry Hart?”

Eggsy searches his mind for anything even remotely similar. “No. I’ve heard _Merlin_ in a legend about King Arthur, but other than that, no.”

They appeared to be put to ease. “He kept his word.”

“And those are your names…” He glances between the two, his words more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Eggsy raises his eyebrows, but otherwise doesn’t comment on the ridiculousness of some of the names. “Do you remember anything strange from that day your home burned down?”

Eggsy wasn’t ready for that. He was never ready for all those things to come rushing back when Eggsy let himself revisit that night.

He blinks away the smell of smoke, the heat, the faint sound of people rushing to put out the fire. It’s difficult but he tries his best to single out anything particularly strange.

He remembers the blurry image of what once was their home and business burning down. He couldn’t quite see clearly because of the tears. His mother was crying too as she was clutching Eggsy for dear life.

It was a chilly November evening, but the heat from the fire was horrifyingly pleasant against the cold. Figures were moving around them, some yelling, some bringing buckets of water until firemen got to the scene. There was so much around him yet he couldn’t move his eyes away from the burning building.

“Nothin’ strange…Or I don’t remember.” Eggsy pulls himself out of his daze. He hopes they wouldn’t insist on him trying again. To his relief, they don’t. “Anythin’ else?” Eggsy takes in a breath to calm himself.

The brunet – Harry Hart – opens his mouth, but closes it again. Eggsy guessed he was currently mulling over his next question. It made Eggsy uneasy. The way _this Hart’s_ face showed hesitance and, ridiculously, _pity_ , had the boy squirming under his sorrowful gaze.

His colleague – Merlin, was it? – had enough waiting for Harry to decide on their further action, and stepped in himself. “I think we ought to reserve the question for another time,” Harry turns to him, a tad surprised, but nods.

“I can leave?” Eggsy asks in bewilderment.

“Only if ye return on the morrow,” The bald man picks something up from the side of his desk and moves closer to put it into Eggsy’s pocket. Confused by what he older was doing, Eggsy doesn’t utter a word as the other untangles the cuffs’ chain from the armrest, guiding Eggsy to stand.

“Free to go? Just like that?” Eggsy presses on, expecting the butler to return any second now with a velvet and gold ornate box that held a handgun. Were they masking him into a false sense of security before killing him and hiding the evidence with the other ones in the basement?

“No,” Speaks up the brunet. “We expect your visit the following day. That is our condition.”

“You think I won’t run? For all you know, I could leave tha city as soon as I’m back on tha street.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” He says in that posh, matter-of-fact tone that appeared to be a distinctive part of his personality.

Eggsy smiles. “Wot makes you so sure I won’t run?”

“If you run, we will find you.”

“Knowin’ you spent years on searchin’ for me an’ mum,” His smile widens. “I’m sure I won’t see you till I’m old and grey.”

 “This time you will be easier to find, and besides,” He crosses his arms. “I imagine there is more than one question left you would like us to answer. Or am I mistaken?”

He wasn’t smiling, but that damn smugness in his voice was nothing less than infuriating. What angered Eggsy even more was that he indeed assumed right. Eggsy could lie to them all he wanted, but he could not lie to himself. How could he deny himself a chance to finally know more of what his mother kept quiet about for so long?

His conscience told him the wisest thing to do was to take his family and flee the city, Dean’s financial support and their own lack of money be damned. They’d survive somehow. They always had.

But his heart didn’t want to listen. It wanted to know more, wanted to figure out the mystery surrounding the early end of his childhood.

The question is – Was Eggsy ready to take such a big risk to trust these strangers?

Eggsy was still torn when he feels a hand on his back. He turns back to see the brunet guiding him back towards a door to a small hallway. Eggsy hears the other man pull out a ring of keys. Then the panic sets in.

“No need to be so tense, Eggsy,” Harry sounded amused. “We are simply showing you the door.”

And it was true. The three pass an archway at the end of the dark hallway and stop by the same single step Eggsy remembered from his way to the study. They watch the bald man use one of many keys and open the heavy door, using his pristine shoe to push aside the chains lying at their feet.

Picking up the sewer’s stench again, Eggsy’s too confused by the turn of events that he doesn’t register his feet touch the grimy sewer stone.

“The information you need to find us is in your pocket. We will be expecting you at noon the following day, tea ready of course.”

Eggsy blinks up at the two men stuck in the narrow doorway.

“And I advise you to come willingly. Otherwise, you will find yourself tied to another chair by the end of this week. And that, my boy, is not a threat – it is a _promise_.”

Their meeting was ended by the heavy door closing shut and the sound of a key and chains telling Eggsy it was now nothing else than an extension of the sewer wall.

It takes a few minutes to bring himself back to reality. The first thing he realises was that his wrists were still in cuffs. Those- They forgot to give him a key! Trying to fix the mistake, he pounds at the door but gets no reply.

Next, Eggsy realises that he was lost. The only light giving texture to stone and water came from the sewer grates up above. He stood in a tunnel with three turns, all leading to heavens knows where. Even if Eggsy had his sight when they were taking him here, it was still far too dark and easy to lose your way in. Did they use a lantern or were they so familiar with the underground twists and turns that they didn’t need any light or map to navigate?

With a frustrated kick at the closed door, Eggsy turns east and prays for a sewer grate he could actually access in his unfortunate state. He finds salvation in the fourth grate he comes across. It took him a bit of a struggle, but soon he hoists himself up and falls back on the damp cobblestone, enjoying the cool air as he catches his breath.

The cuffs don’t come off easily. Two found fence nails later, Eggsy tosses the metal spikes aside and makes a detour through the shadowy streets of the slums to see an associate of Dean’s. Some give him weird looks for wearing his jacket over his chest, hiding the manacles. Thankfully, no one cares enough to retrieve an officer to bring in the possible fugitive that’s loitering through the slums.

Dean’s ‘friend’ doesn’t greet him. What he says upon seeing Eggsy step into his ‘workshop’ is, “Did Baker sent ya?” to which Eggsy says he did.

Even Eggsy himself knew the lie was weak. It’s just that his day began in such a mess that by now he had no more energy left to play pretend. It was even more infuriating to know that if Eggsy would’ve been Dean, Rottweiler or even Poodle – his cuffs would be off his wrists and dumped in some alleyway an hour ago.

While Dean’s associate heads back deeper into his workshop to, presumably, bring a hammer to use (and possibly injure the younger’s hands), Eggsy snags a lock pick set and leaves. He’s free and on his way home soon enough.

Alas, even when he sets foot on their lodging house’s doorstep, the landlady stops him and sends him out. The way this spinster wrinkled her nose was a hint that the grime on his shoes wasn’t the only thing Eggsy brought back from the sewer.

He asks Jamal’s siblings to go inside and fetch him, but what they bring back is a tired Ryan, yawing after a long night at the docklands. Eggsy asks Jamal’s little brother to hold onto his bought bread while Ryan douses him with three buckets of cold water.

When Eggsy closes his room’s door behind him, he sighs in relief at the now distant sound of the landlady’s complaining over the small puddles Eggsy left in his wake. He tosses his soaked shoes, jacket and cap beside the table and slumps on the creaky chair.

His mother and sister must’ve left a while ago. Eggsy rips off a lump of bread and puts the rest away for his mum and Daisy to enjoy in the evening. Meanwhile, he just chews half-heartedly, reliving his nightmare of a morning.

That poor thing tossed away like common rubbish, with her killer still out there, hiding or planning their next action.

And those two men that knew his father. Eggsy wasn’t sure if he was wary of them because of their bizarre approach to the interrogation or if he mistrusted them for knowing his father. Everything about them was suspicious – their exchange with the butler, their attitude towards him, even the names they gave Eggsy were ridiculous.

And the most laughable part was that they let him go…And expected him to _come back_. They even went as far as to leave something in his pocket to find them again.

Despite himself, Eggsy dives down to check the pockets of his soaked jacket. From the left pocket, he finds a wet card with the printed on ink feathering at its sides.

It wasn’t a common visiting card as it was cream white and simpler. It was a business card.

The ink was smudged but Eggsy could still read the company’s title and the familiar name at the bottom centre of the card. The design too was something Eggsy thought he’d seen before, but he couldn’t remember where or when.

He leans back into the chair and swallows the lump of bread that was now tasteless. Eggsy’s eyes settle on the name of the company, wondering if it was real or just a cover for those gentlemen to continue their dubious work.

With an irritated huff, Eggsy flicks the card onto the table and moves to change his clothes. The name _Kingsman Tailor Shop_ and its two supposed employees still occupied Eggsy’s mind when his mother and sister returned in the evening.                          

  

   

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back (after a long break too, damn) and here's another chapter! The next one is already written and will be posted on the 11th.
> 
> •To bleat - whine and/or tell on someone, a.k.a. be a snitch.  
> •Footsie - now most often used as a romantic term but then used more as a word to describe a game with your feet (not quite football/soccer)  
> •Church-bell - a talkative woman.

It is two days later that Eggsy finally decides to seek out the tailor shop and its two supposed employees.

When his mother and sister returned the evening of that bizarre encounter, Eggsy explained his prolonged trip to the market with the mention of a request to meet from Dean. Given the excuse, Michelle regarded Eggsy with her usual motherly frown but left it at that.

Eggsy felt guilty, choosing to turn his eyes towards Daisy, who had happily munched on the bread while telling her brother of their day.

After the two women left the following morning, Eggsy caught Poodle in his usual seat at the _Black Prince_ pub. Eggsy asked if there was any work he could do to earn some money, to which Poodle only shook his head and returned to his drink.

Unsatisfied with the answer, at the back of the pub Eggsy finds Dean himself. This time he gets the same answer but a different dismissal. Dean tells Eggsy that the gang is waiting, getting ready for something that requires extensive planning. When Eggsy asked for more details, Dean refused and sent Eggsy out with a few coins and a promise to notify him once the time is right.

It all sounded suspicious but Eggsy knew better than to pry and possibly get a beating for it. So, he’d taken the coins quietly and returned home.

Upon arrival, Eggsy found the landlady and gave her the coins as a partial payment of his family’s rent. Then Eggsy returned to their room and tried to do as Dean said – he waited.

I’d been an hour or two until it became unbearable, the constant thoughts about those two men and his father adding to his uneasiness. He needed to work or do something to get those pesky thoughts to quiet down. So, he left the room to do just that.

Thinking it was still far too risky to walk around freely, Eggsy didn’t stay far from the lodging home. He helped Ryan’s mother with some housework, kindled a fire downstairs just before dinner and played cards with Jamal right after it.

By the time he was in bed, Daisy snuggled against his arm, he stayed restless. That night sleep came slowly and even then it was difficult to drift away. In the morning, Eggsy granted himself the luxury of sleeping in, but even then he had trouble staying in bed. It felt like the sudden lack of work was due to fate playing a trick on him, using his curiosity to torture him mentally.

The second day was the same if not more nettling. Again, he helped around the house, played cards and even took a stroll to clear his mind. When the night had come, Eggsy told himself enough was enough.

He should’ve been content with his situation and happy no officers came and had taken him away. However, like a fool, Eggsy had decided that when morning comes he’ll find the ruined card and look for the tailor shop.

He should’ve torn the business card into pieces as soon as he found it in his pocket, Eggsy thought to himself. If he’s arrested, abducted or killed – it’ll be no one’s fault but his own.

And so, two days after the strange meeting with a pair of possible killers, Eggsy finds himself in the opulent area of Mayfair.

As expected, the West End of London looked nothing like the places Eggsy frequented. Mayfair was adorned with Georgian architecture, upper-class housing and luxurious shops. Beautifully kept trees and gardens were placed around the entrances to buildings and noble family residencies, inviting people in. Various statues, flower beds, plaques and fountains made the neighbourhood appealing for those, who thought of residing here. Perhaps all that combined was what made Mayfair fit to accommodate a large portion of the upper class.

Amongst all the Georgian housing and ornate fountains, Eggsy felt out of place. The locals seemed to think so too as many gave Eggsy a suspicious glance when passing by. Opportunely, he made good use of such attention and asked a lady and her escort for directions.

On his way to the tailor shop, Eggsy passes a shopping galleria known as the _Burlington Arcade_. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and so Eggsy stepped in to look at the shops close to the entrance.

The sheltered walkway was stretched fairly long and wide to offer a comfortable passage. Each side of the arcade had shop windows that belonged to fifty or so businesses. People were buzzing in and out of the three-way pillared entrance, giving the shopping centre a feel of an active beehive.

On the other side of the shops’ windows, Eggsy sees frockcoats, top hats, ascots, ladies’ hats embellished with feathers of exotic birds, corsets, beauty products, and so on. The abundance and selection of these items, paired with the arcade’s elaborateness, made Eggsy feel that he stepped into a whole other world.  

A soft purple shawl made of gauze catches his eye. Not as costly as the yellow silk shawl on its right but pretty nonetheless. Eggsy tilts his head, considering the garment thoughtfully. He believed the colour would suit his mother.

A peaky woman rushes out the very same shop Eggsy stood in front of, her arms full of shopping packages and a list of what to buy next. Poor girl looked a minute or two away from falling over so Eggsy gets her attention with a steadying hand and an offer to help.

Slightly startled, she gives him a once-over and politely declines, saying something about a gentleman waiting for her in another shop. It was a blatant lie Eggsy understood yet it still hurt.

With the indication of him being unwanted, Eggsy leaves the classist woman to her struggle and walks out, giving the watchful beadle a nod. Why loiter any longer? It wasn’t like he could afford any of the products sold inside, anyway.

Ten minutes later Eggsy found himself standing before a shop on Dover Street, the tailor shop’s name sign and symbol identical to the one on the business card he held. Eggsy stays on the street, gazing at the intricate black iron railing, ridiculous antler decorated ceiling and exemplary suit jackets on the other side of the shop window. He won’t admit it but the shop’s dazzling exterior was a little intimidating. Perhaps because the _Kingsman_ shop was even more decorated than those back at the _Burlington Arcade_.

 _Just go_ , he tells himself and musters up the courage to enter.

When the door closes behind him, Eggy’s greeted with the smell of wood, cotton and the faint remains of tobacco. The walls were painted a rich green with walnut panelling. Every piece of furniture was of polished wood and the sofas and armchairs intended to accommodate the shop’s patrons were made of quality leather. A stuffed deer head and some paintings were hung up for further ostentation, including a large painting of the Queen in the place of honour just behind the shop attendant.

The crackling of the fireplace, faint sound of the street and the continuous tick of a grandfather clock made up a calming ambience.

Various pieces of cloth samples, measurement instruments, and silhouette cut-outs were placed around the room. Behind tall glass showcases were waist mannequins dressed in expensive suits and ceremonial jackets commonly worn by military men. Whoever made those pieces was a man of enviable skill.

“Ahem.” The sound of the shop’s attendant clearing his throat drags Eggsy’s wandering eyes to the counter. “Good afternoon, sir. Is there anything I can help you with?” He asks once Eggsy walks up to him.

The older man looks over Eggsy much like the woman did back at the arcade, but with no paranoia. No, instead, the attendant seemed to be interested, Eggsy would go as far as say he looked intrigued.

“Hullo, um,” Eggsy lifts his hand and shows the card that had been rudely given to him. “I got this an’ was told to come--”

The attendant takes one look at the card and puts down his pen, walking deeper into the shop.

“…here…” Eggsy finishes, still staring at the door the man exited through. Odd.

As he was gone, Eggsy was left to wait and entertain himself. He takes another look around the shop, steps closer to inspect the ceremonial jackets and marvel at the cufflinks in the glass case beside the counter. The idea to swipe a few and sell later came to mind but was dissolved by a somewhat familiar voice.

“Ah, so wonderful to see you again, sir.”

Eggsy lifts his eyes and stills.

The butler! The shop attendant returned and brought back the same butler Eggsy saw two days ago.

 “We were expecting your visit earlier this week, but you did not come,” The butler frowns. “And no note was received. Had something intervened with your meeting plans?” He wonders, the man behind him quirking an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Yes…” Eggsy glances between the older men nervously. “I- Unfortunately, yes. Family issues an’ the sort…”

“Oh.” The butler says, his voice empathic.

“Now, it’s sorted out…Are they still here? Can I see ‘em?” He cranes his head to look at the door, wondering if they’re somewhere behind it.

“I’m certain it’ll be a surprise but,” He smiles. “I’m sure they won’t mind that its such short notice. Please,” He gestures to the door and waits for Eggsy to walk towards it.

The feel of being led to a lion’s den had returned. Even so, Eggsy pockets the card and moves closer.

“Thank you,” The butler tells the attendant and soon the man returns to his tasks.

Behind the door was another with a glass window, presumably the shop’s office, and a staircase leading to the upper floor. Eggsy followed the butler up the stairs and into a hallway lined with several doors and two double ones, one of which was open and showed an empty meeting room with a long table. He and the butler continue through the second double door and Eggsy stops in his tracks.

It looked like they’ve stepped into a different building. Eggsy couldn’t help but think that now he stood at the head of the stairs leading down to a spacious parlour room. It didn’t resemble the rest of the shop’s rooms and instead looked like a house inhabited by a titled family; The way the parlour was decorated appeared more domestic than the meeting room or the shop’s ground floor.

Eggsy walks down and follows his guide deeper. The longer he looked, the more this place resembled a house. Was this where the shop employees lived? If that was so, the rooms looked more suited for a lord than a tailor.

Eggsy stops by a portrait hung above the parlour’s fireplace. It was a portrait of a solemn man with a ceremonial jacket and sabre, looking at the viewer with scorn and authority. The small plaque at the bottom read _Arthur_.

“Right this way,” The butler ushers Eggsy away from the painting and down the corridor to a familiar set of doors. The butler knocks and is allowed to come in.

 “That was rather quick,” Eggsy hears the brunet before seeing him turn in an armchair. When he looks back, the man is clearly surprised.  

“I’m afraid the wait will be a little longer,” The butler explains and gestures for Eggsy to step out of the doorway. “I was notified of Mr Unwin’s arrival,” Upon saying his name, the bald man steps out of the adjoined hallway, his face matching the brunet’s.

“I see,” The brunet murmurs, standing up while his colleague comes closer.

“Now then, shall I get started on tea?”

“Yes, thank you, Drew.”

The butler – _Drew_ – bows and exits, leaving Eggsy to the mercy of the two men.

“Well, Eggsy,” The brunet’s surprise subsides enough for him to regain some of his poise. “We were beginning to think you kept your word and left London.”

“Wot difference would it make? You said you’d find me.” Eggsy chaffs.

“The week has not yet ended,” The brunet notes, offering his hand to shake. “In any case, I’m pleased to see you again…” He looks down at Eggsy’s hands. “Oh, no cuffs.” He declares, his voice carrying a hint of admiration.

“Was I not supposed to take ‘em off...?” He asks carefully.

“Leaving them on was more of a precaution than anything else,” The brunet looks at his friend, who now stood closer yet refused to acknowledge his colleague’s smirk. “But this is good,” The brunet looks back at Eggsy. “This shows you are just what we need, my boy. Tell me, how have you done it? Did someone offer a hand? Or did you free yourself?”

“…Pocketed a lock pick set down at tha slums.” Eggsy leaves Dean’s acquaintance out of the conversation, just to be safe.

The brunet seemed a little disappointed. “A lock pick set? And here I thought you would use your creativity.”

By now Eggsy’s view of these people had gone from distrust to concern. Their dialogue and actions were akin to a high-born madman. Who else would treat murder and criminal activity as if a civilian carrying out one’s duties?

Sure, they may be members of police. Their surroundings, however, along with their actions and methods had made the theory unlikely. At best Eggsy would call them eccentric inspectors. At worst? Criminals with so much wealth and power that even the police had been forced to submit.

The question was what they wanted with Eggsy? To play a bit before killing him? To use him for their work? To recruit him?

“Nails failed me. Better tools were wot I ended up needin’.” For now, he decided to play along, too curious to leave now anyway. Besides, Dean could reward him for information of an upper-class threat to be avoided.

“So you tried,” The brunet seemed content with his answer. “Then yes, you acted accordingly. Just as I had hoped.”

As Eggsy’s brow furrowed, something unsettling made his chest feel tight. “Hoped?”

“Yes,” He says calmly. That too just added to Eggsy’s panic. “Merlin here thought you would break free and keep your word to leave. I, on the other hand, persisted on you using your wit to return and, as you can see,” The brunet turns to his friend, _Merlin_ , once more. “It turns out I was correct.” He states, smug.

Merlin crossed his arms, grumbling. “Gather yerself, Harry. We are nae longer boys.”

“But of course,” Drawls the brunet. “I’m reminded of that every time light reflects off of your head.” He answers, receiving a glare in return.

At that moment Drew comes back with a tea trolley. The butler deposits teacups on the desk and offers another for Eggsy, to which the younger declines. Drew puts down a plate of scones and a silver sugar bowl, then leaves.

“Take a seat,” The brunet guides Eggsy to the same chair Eggsy sat in during his last, and more stressful, trip to their study.

And so the trio migrates to the desk, two enjoying a sip of tea and the third watching them with vigilant eyes. He’s offered a scone which, just like the tea, Eggsy refuses.

“As much as I enjoy sittin’ down for a cup of afternoon tea,” Eggsy quips after a short while of silence. “I’d like to know why I’m here an’ if I get to live.”

To Eggsy’s surprise, the bespectacled man raises an accusing brow towards his colleague. The other places his cup back on its plate with a soft ‘clink’, his features determined.

“I suppose our tactics were a bit overzealous,” He says to no one in particular and interlaced his fingers. “My apologies for making you think we wish you harm. We want nothing of the sort. Rather, we want to present you an opportunity. A business proposition.”

Eggsy laughs incredulously. “Wot on earth could I offer you?”

“Where do you work?” He says in lieu of an answer. “Help at the docks? A vendor? Labour at a factory perhaps? Are you an apprentice of some sort?”

The intensity of their gaze was suffocating. “…Here and there,” Eggsy offers. “I get by.”

“No stable work? I imagine it’s rather hard to find something honest to do in these difficult times.”

“Difficult?” Eggsy narrows his eyes, more at him using the word ‘honest’ than anything else.

“Yes, my social standing might be higher than of a member of the working crowd, but I am _not_ blind to their situation,” The brunet takes another sip and swirls the liquid in his cup before setting it down, slightly dejected. “…Despite what you think of me.”

“So? Wot of it?”

“So, I want to present you with an opportunity to have a stable income. I will not comment on your current situation and what line of work you appear to be involved in,” For a second his tone had reminded Eggsy of an upset parent. “And instead, I’m offering you honest work, something you could be proud of.”

This all sounded perfect and yet too good to be true. Eggsy also didn’t miss how the man with glasses had kept silent thought the entirety of their conversation, his expression disapproving of his friend’s words. Nevertheless, he just continued to sip his tea, frowning at everything that his friend had told Eggsy. The contrast was distracting.

“A good Samaritan, then? I don’t believe you want to help just because. There’s somethin’ else there, ‘ain’t it?” At the last question, the other’s mood seemed to darken. Better to fix it quick. “…An’ wot would I even be doin’? I’m moderate at labour, but I don’t see why you lot need me for. I don’t see you putin’ me out there to greet guests like your butler and I know nothin’ bout sewin’.”

Reasoning seemed to drag the brunet out of his gloomy thoughts and back into their unusual conversation. “Well, you will have to assume a role of a great deal of things: a valet, apprentice, guard, informant-”

“That’s why you want me,” Eggsy interrupts with a hollow chuckle. How could he had been so blind? “You want me to _bleat_? I knew it was but a dream. My answer is no. Find yourselves another informant, I won’t do it.”

“Oh, fine, you don’t have to tell us anything. Just come here and work,” He bargains. “I assure you, our intentions are nothing but good.”

“Sod off! If you are as half as brilliant an’ insightful as you put yourself to be, then put yourself in my place! Why should I trust someone like you?!”

“…Lee did.” He says simply.

“You…” Eggsy felt his temper rising. “You keep his name out of this!”

“Eggsy, all we want is to help you and your mother. We cannot do that unless you _want_ our help. If you truly want nothing to do with this then we will honour your choice. The decision is yours, really.”

It’s scary how desperate he looked despite his words. Eggsy wouldn’t care for financial support if not for his mother and sister. The need for money, his guilty conscience and the oddly heartfelt expression the man wore all made up a convincing case.

Maybe if the other man spoke up, convincing Eggsy further or opposing to the proposition entirely, then possibly Eggsy would think differently and decline. Howbeit, with only the brunet the setting was perfect, the right amount of reason, spirit and with room for him to think on his decision. And what a difficult decision it was; Eggsy had to choose between his and his family’s safety, and a stable income.

He won’t take a leap without exploring his options.

“Sorry if I’m repeatin’ myself,” Eggsy shrugs a shoulder and readies to meet the brunet’s eyes. “Wot can I gain from this exactly?”

The man leans back in his chair, sizing him up, gradually asking his partner to pass something without looking away. Silently, the other passes a loose leaf and a pen. The former busies himself.

“A better sense of protection, for starters, then honest work, as mentioned,” He lists of as he scribbles something on the paper in hurried writing. “A field with adventures and lots of other things to offer, something a young man like you would be delighted to experience, I’m sure. Also, a place to stay-”

“A place to stay?”

“-With many expenses paid in addition to an agreeable salary. I think this will suffice.”

He passes the paper to Eggsy. Still hesitant, he picks it up and looks over the number. The amount written was… Well, there must’ve been a mistake. The number of pounds written in elegant ink was somewhere between what a butler and a post office clerk made in a year.

“I…there’s a rather large dot next to tha number-”

“No, that’s another figure.” The brunet checks, just in case.

“I, that hardly seems fair. I know you ask a lot of me but this,” He waves the paper. “For me to make this much per year is-”

“Per week,” The bald man interjects, making Eggsy’s eyes widen even more.

“Per week!” Eggsy exclaims in disbelief. “For me? To make this much per week? I’m not an engineer or-or a bloody lord.”

“Why are you so heated?” Asks the brunet. “I thought you would welcome the money.”

“It’s wot I’m bein’ paid for I worry about!”

“Your future duties had been listed. In my opinion, the perks balance out the negatives of your position. Furthermore, a generous amount of your earnings per annum will be subtracted to pay for your clothes on special occasions. No need to worry, the amount left will still be good enough to live on and save up for a rainy day.”

While tempting, the position offered to him didn’t make any sense, which made Eggsy anxious. How and for what reason could he possibly need to learn and execute so many things? And for such generous pay?

If the problem laid in the lack of staff that could easily be solved. These men had the money, surely, hiring more servants would be an easy task, especially since the people of London were eager to find work. Something wasn’t right.

Even so, the possibility of having such an income was rather overshadowing at the moment. Now what’s left to convince Eggsy of is that his fear was arbitrary.

“An’ if I agree,” Eggsy’s voice comes out soft yet guarded. “I know wot I could get from this arrangement. Wot I want to know more than anythin’ – not tha numbers or benefits – No, _you_ ,” He gives the two gentlemen a long, level look. “Wot do _you_ gain from this if I say yes?”

The brunet opens his mouth, a moment passes, he closes it again and thinks. Oddly enough, the same man who had made little japes at his colleague’s appearance now sat silent, much like his friend for the entirety of the duo’s conversation.

Something in the older man’s eyes made Eggsy think that the words were not as difficult to say as they were hard to admit. But for whom?

The bald man moves, ready to offer a reply when the other does it himself.

“To repay an old debt…” He says. “And, possibly…to gain an ally.” The brunet finishes, meeting Eggsy’s gaze head-on.

The confession sat heavy, showing just how much they truly expected of him. The first part, on the other hand, reminded Eggsy that there might be more than meets the eye. So much more was left behind the curtains, with Eggsy as the person forced to wait and see how it all played out, what secrets were withheld, despite his burning curiosity.

Only one way he might have a chance to unravel all those secrets and see what’s going on behind the curtains, and that is to become a member of the crew.

“Listen, guv,-”

“Galahad, _please,_ ” The brunet insists. “Or Hart, whichever you prefer.”

“Well, um,” Eggsy squirms. “Tha offer is temptin’ an’ tha pay is more than I think I deserve…” He looks at the paper in his hand.

“Is there something still missing? One would think that what we promised was more than enough.”

“It is! It is,” He hurries to reassure him. “It’s just that…No, I-I agree. I accept your offer.”

“Splendid,” The brunet hides his reaction behind a mask of grace, already summoning a voice that was of a professional nature. Whatever was going through his head after hearing Eggsy’s decision (Happiness? Positive jitter?), he concealed it well, moving on as if it was just another business deal.

In contrast, his friend looked more brooding, unsatisfied that the deal has been successfully made. A few hushed remarks and a long sip of tea later, they both stand up.

“I don’t see the use of wasting any more time. Let’s begin with housing,” Says the shorter man, buttoning up his suit jacket. Merlin nods, although it looked forced, and moves to retrieve some things, a book and a document from the bottom drawer.

Eggsy’s confused by the sudden burst of action and follows his new employers to the double doors and back into the spacious parlour.

“Drew!” Calls out the brunet when Eggsy realises that the bald man had gone off somewhere else.

The person that walks out of a near door is not the butler but a youth, about Eggsy’s age, with brown, neatly combed hair and bonze-coloured vest and trousers that were too lavish for a simple manservant.

“I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment, sir.”

“Understandable. Would you fetch us the coach?”

“Certainly,” The word could’ve been said for the sake of keeping appearances, judging by how averse the male sounded.

“Thank you, Rufus,” The young man – _Rufus_ – sends a resentful look Eggsy’s way before disappearing behind a door at the end of a well-decorated hallway.

Merlin returns shortly, an outdoor coat folded over each forearm. Eggsy takes his time admiring the parlour’s light wood bookshelves and inviting sofas while they dressed, then followed up the stairs and down to the shop. The boy watches them exchange a few words with the shop attendant and receive a hefty parcel, then walks behind them into the street, where a carriage and a coachman with a bushy moustache were at the ready.

The bald man gets in first and carefully sets the parcel to occupy an entire seat and then sits down on the opposite one.

“Up you go. And do watch your step,” The brunet waves for Eggsy to get in next.

Eggsy raises his eyebrows in disbelief for what felt like the nth time that day and chuckles, placing one foot on the single step the coach offered for easier access.

“You two are tha most bizarrely kind people I’ve ever met,” He simpers.

“I wouldn’t say kind,” He retorts in a witty manner. “Believe it or not, we already share some history between us _and_ it just so happens that you had won me a certain wager.”

Judging from the dismissive comment they received from inside the coach, Eggsy guessed the bespectacled gentleman was the one on the losing end. Inside, he looked impatient, so Eggsy chose to leave the story at that and get in, the brunet following him shortly.

It wasn’t a long ride but an uncomfortable one nonetheless. It was a tight squeeze, having three grown men share a two-person seat while the parcel took up a small portion of the other. The package looked eerily familiar. Eggsy moved on from it to try and keep a polite conversation with Mr Hart while his companion wrote something down on a piece of paper and then placed it inside the book he had picked up.

The coachman brings them to one of the more densely populated streets of Lewisham, passing many shops and cheery people on the street. The houses here didn’t look as grand as those back in Mayfair yet to Eggsy they looked perfect. To get a better look at people’s life here Eggsy leans over and steadies himself enough to look through the carriage’s window. Perhaps this was where the small middle-class had made their paradise.

The horses make turns to navigate several rows of houses, finally stopping beside an end terrace house. The buildings here were made of a mixture of red and brown brick, with black iron fences and accents around the windows and doors done in lighter tones.

“Eager to see the place?” Eggsy’s startled out of his thoughts by a knowing voice.

“Why are we here?”

“Every individual working for Kingsman receives a salary and housing according to their post. This is for you to accommodate your family.”

A moment of silent surprise later Eggsy shakes his head, smiling wryly. “I ought to change wot I said earlier. Havin’ a laugh at a chap’s expense, not so kind now, is it?”

“This is not some ruse, I assure you. As long as you will work for Kingsman, this will belong to you and your mother.”

The realisation comes slowly, like the grey clouds parting, offering sunshine to brighten one’s day. Eggsy turns back to the terrace house, eyes jumping from detail to detail as if viewing it for the first time.

Right away his wishful mind had supplied Eggsy with scenarios of living here with his family. He imagined coming back from work in the evening and having Daisy greet him, the open doorway illumination Eggsy’s walk up to the house. He imagines the twirl of her pale dress as she scurries inside and into the kitchen, where Michelle had been finishing up preparing dinner.

There was a small garden at the entrance of the terrace, large enough to grow a few small ferns, blooming white peonies and a number of rose bushes, not ready to come into blossom until June. Eggsy imagines his family there – Daisy attempting to garden, Eggsy helping and breaking into a random story to keep them both entertained all while their mother had her afternoon tea, watching over her children as they tended to the garden and played an occasional match of footsie.

Eggsy felt his nose begin to burn and his vision become blurry. Despite the need to let his emotions overtake him and sink into the relief of having this _chance_ to give his family everything they wished for, what _he_ wished for them, Eggsy gripped the window frame tighter, trying and failing to keep his tearful smile in check.

Eggsy knew he’d done nothing to deserve this, to deserve another chance for a decent life not only for his mother and sister but for himself as well. He thanks God or anyone that’ll listen to him all the while Eggsy tries his best to school his face into a neutral expression, threatening whatever tears wanted to roll down his cheeks.

“Oh, don’t you start rejoicing. You won’t get the whole building for yourself. There is another tenant who will share it with you.” The brunet says, restless in the stiff quiet.

“Harry, a word,” The bald man rustles, opening the coach door on the opposite side.

The sound of their egress was nothing but background noise to Eggsy in his current state. It takes him a minute or two to gather himself, dry any wayward tear and join the two gentlemen outside.

“Is it really mine?” Asks Eggsy, giving an appreciative look to his new accommodations.

“Aye,” Says Merlin, producing a neat wad of papers and pushing them against Eggsy’s chest. “Here are the necessary papers. Naturally, the deed of ownership stays with Kingsman.”

“Thought as much,” Eggsy grumbles ta the slightly rough exchange and checks the papers. “Can I bring a third person to live here?” He glances over the floor plan and ownership notes. Amongst them, Eggsy finds information describing plumbing, electricity and…how to gain entrance to a hidden room?

“A third?” The voice brings Eggsy’s attention back to the brunet. “Mmhmm,” He hums. “A young and opportunistic boy like yourself should have a suitable partner by your side by now. Of course, it might complicate our plans but as long as you keep your work affairs private, I don’t see why you cannot bring her here.”

Before Eggsy could ask what he meant, the house’s door opens and out comes an elderly lady with a dull, cotton apron and a basket full of gardening tools. The woman closes the door and stops, her eyes squinting behind the pince-nez glasses she wore, trying to assess the three men standing just outside her garden.

“Bollocks,” The brunet swears quietly and then plasters on a smile. “Mrs Figg!” The brunet raises a hand, greeting her with feigned cheerfulness. “Lovely to see you.”

“Mr Hart!” The old woman beams and puts down the basket, then squints again. “And…Mr Mycroft! It’s been so long, how have the two of you fellows been? Well, I hope.”

“Excuse our interference,” Merlin steps in to try and lead her aside. “We didnae mean to trouble ye. Please continue. We will just show this lad the apartment and be on our way.”

“So, Mr Hart won’t be moving back?” She frowns and turns to the man in question. “What a shame. I will miss our chats over tea greatly.”

“As will I.” Harry lies through his teeth.

“Then is he the one to live upstairs?” Her sorrow fades as quickly as it had come. Merlin gives up in guiding her away, Mrs Figg’s want to question Eggsy clear and unpersuadable. “What a…” She comes closer with Merlin in tow, peering at Eggsy. “What a lovely young man you’ve brought along and much handsome too.” She coos.

Eggsy looks at her, then at his scruffy attire, wondering if everyone he met since Kingsman tailors were mad or just too drunk to find something wrong in his obviously lower-class appearance.

“Very poor eyesight,” Harry leans in to whisper discreetly. ‘ _Ah_ ’, Eggsy utters and resorts to smiling, hoping she’d bore of them quickly and return to the garden.

No such luck.

“Are you moving in?”Eggsy nods. “Splendid! I’d be nice to finally have someone to talk to after Mr Hart left. The family next door to us is pleasant but between just us, they’re suspicious. Singing in some strange language during the holidays. Just plain odd.” Silence. “But we can surely talk about it over tea some other day! For now, tell me about yourself. Are you married? With children perhaps? The street is great for raising children, very calm and with decent people. Unless I assumed wrongly and you are still looking? In that case, Mrs Martin’s niece, Abigail, is a wonderful girl. Sure, a bit too timid and not that talented in the arts…However, I think she’d make a kind mother. If you’re interested, I could-”

“Mrs Figg, If I may ask you a favour,” Harry comes front with a tight smile and whisks her away towards the house.

“Anything for you,” She says, not missing a beat. “That is if the favour is within my power.” The rest of their conversation is a hushed buzz.

“I see why he moved out,” Eggsy comments distractedly, watching the pair whisper back and forth.

“Aye, a real church-bell, that one,” Merlin answers, also watching the two up ahead.  “Galahad moved out of this apartment once he had obtained a higher position and accommodation. Albeit, he greeted his new position as salvation from this house.” His voice carried the slightest hint of humour.

The two in front seemed to come to an agreement and thus Harry turned back and nodded his head, a signal of some sort. Merlin straightened and opened his book, presenting it to Eggsy.

“Study these for now. We will move on to longer sentences when ye have mastered these,” Eggsy looks at what he’d been given and the small note that had specified what to read and what to leave alone for now. When Eggsy stayed quiet, the other furrows his brow. “Ye do know how to read..?”

“Yes!” Retorts Eggsy, obviously hurt by the assumption. “But…These are greetings? Wot do I need this book for? Kindle a fire?”

“Read them and commit it all to memory,” He says, a warning. “It comes with the position. I will be expecting ye early. Come prepared or not at all,” And with that he ends his demands, marching back to their coach without another word.

“You can’t be serious!” Eggsy yells right after him, a hand on his shoulder stopping him from following the older man.

“And here I worried the two of you would be at each other’s throats,” Harry stands beside Eggsy. “Now, it has been settled. I’m afraid we have other business to attend to. Mrs Figg had graciously agreed to show you the upstairs. Unfortunately, you won’t be allowed to move in right away. You see, some things are yet to be carried out of the apartment. And later we must discuss your accommodations back at Kingsman. To estimate, the whole ordeal shouldn’t take longer than a few days.”

“You’re leavin' me with her?”

“Better to get used to it now,” The brunet suppresses a smile. “The woman has officially become your neighbour.”

“Wait just a second--”

It was no use. The coach door had been closed with the two inside, the words ‘ _To Scotland Yard_!’ have already set the coachman and horses into motion.

Eggsy stands on the side of the road, watching the carriage drive away, the sound of hooves becoming more distant with each house they passed.

A soft voice behind him makes Eggsy look back at his new neighbour. Mrs Figg stood there patiently, offering a saccharine smile and holding a ring with two iron keys.

He’d tell them off for being so heartless as to leave him to the mercy of this nosy wolf later. For now, he’ll remember the manners his mother had so vigorously taught him and bear through it.

“I can look around myself. I’d hate to keep you away from your garden work.”

“I can always do it later,” She waves it off. “Come, come! I’ll show you around and in the meantime, you can tell me more about yourself!”

When the front door closes behind them, Eggsy compares it to the sound of a cell door, both of which’s sound meant he was now unable to leave. Her voice was even more deafening as it echoed and bounced back from the walls of the half-empty rooms of Eggsy’s new home. Thankfully, he was able to tune out most of her prattle with daydreams of him and his family living out their new life in these floral wallpapered rooms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The salary - I wanted to give even just a tiny bit of context to what sum they actually offered him so I compared it a butler's (head of staff) and a post office clerk (also important), which still doesn't give that much context, I know. (You can find the exact amounts online if you're that curious)
> 
> The carriage scene - their sitting arrangement was awkward, event so with Eggsy leaning over Harry to look out the window, but I was inspired to write it by:  
>   
> ( gif of Taron Egerton's character from "Testament of Youth", from https://egerrton.tumblr.com/) I see it as the point when Eggsy tears up looking at the new house.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter I've written so far.
> 
> •Leg it - to run away quickly, to dash in fear basically
> 
> WARNING - THERE'S ANOTHER GORY SCENE

No one was speaking yet to Eggsy the room was irritatingly loud. The ticking of the so-called Testing room’s clock, the sound of Merlin walking around, his fingers flipping a page and the rustle of fabric during the occasional lean over Eggsy’s shoulder. Even the sound of Eggsy’s own writing was getting on his nerves.

“How much longer?” The younger stops and glares at the figure making steady circles around him.

“Have ye finished the paragraph?” He questions, flipping to another page.

“Yes, for tha _eleventh time_ ,” Eggsy’s head turns to follow Merlin better. “Writin’ it over an’ over again. I know how to say it properly. We’re just waistin’ time.”

Finally, Merlin stops and closes his book. “Then say it again,” He instructs. “From the top.”

A petulant sigh, after which Eggsy pushes his thoughts aside and clears his throat. “ _His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the most naive way_ -“

“Ye pronounce it well enough,” Merlin cuts him short. “But your writing,” He leans over and inspects Eggsy’s penmanship. “Just as I thought, sloping.”

“It’s not.” protests Eggsy. He looks down, self-conscious. In some places a letter or two looked tilted but all in all a passable piece of work.

“This isn’t enough. If need be, your penmanship should pass for a high ranking official, a well-educated person with an upper-class upbringing.”

The smaller frowns up at him. “An’ why would that be expected of me?”

Merlin returns to his book. Ah, another secret. “Kingsman chooses to train its future or present personnel in order to give the best means of service possible.” The man gives him a valid response. As logical as it were, it still made Eggsy deepen his frown at the distrust they still displayed.

“If so, then when are you goin’ to teach me tailorin’?” He points out, in his mind, rightfully so.

It wasn’t that he was eager to start sewing or sizing gentlemen in just their drawers and undershirt, it was the four or more hours per day spent writing and reciting that annoyed him. Eggsy felt as if he was brought to his early years, being thought by his mother’s strict tone to put words on paper and read aloud.

They studied the basics of etiquette, oratory and penmanship all of which Eggsy already had a grasp of, thanks to his stubborn mother. That’s why all this repetition, to Eggsy, seemed unnecessary. What were his promised positions again? A valet, informant, guard, apprentice…Why would any of those jobs require such rigorous studies?

And Merlin, his current tutor, told him nothing else but what to read and what to write, what to memorise and what to forget. His stare, calm and unyielding, turned out to be another thing he had to get accustomed to during their lessons. He was put there for tutoring as well as surveillance, of that Eggsy was sure. But sometimes the other’s gaze became suffocating, his presence hard to ignore. Eggsy even recalls an incident the other day, when Merlin watched Eggsy’s every move as the boy wrote down a paragraph from a page of a book the older had recited. He was certain that the bald man had done it as some sort of trial, to test his concentration perhaps? He didn’t know. As a whole, the experience was rather nerve-racking.

“Tailoring?” Merlin repeats, eyes still on the page. “That will come later. For now, write. Practice the letters.”

“If I do, _when_ will we move on?”

Merlin listens and thinks for a moment. However, the eventual reply gives Eggsy no promise of a near end. “…All in due time.”

Thinking his time was wasted, Eggsy glares at the ceiling but returns to his task.

Four pages and another brief discord later, their lesson was interrupted by the door opening without as much as a knock.

“Ah, there you are,” The brunet offers in lieu of a greeting. “I hope the lessons are coming along well.” He says, closing the door behind him.

“Harry.” Merlin nods in response.

“ ’arry,” Eggsy mimics Merlin from his seat, smiling at the hint of irritation the shorter gentlemen displayed at such a casual use of his given name. Eggsy liked it better than _Mr Hart_ or _Galahad_ , the latter he barely used, despite it being one of his employers’ official mantle.

 _Harry_ he liked far more. Casual, friendly and endearing enough for Eggsy not to think of him as someone striving for total control over his life, someone like his stepfather. Besides, Merlin addressed him as _Harry_ in private, why couldn’t _he_? He owed him as much for keeping so many things in secret.

“An’ no,” Eggsy continues. “Still marvelin’ at Sir Doyle’s work, I’m afraid.”

Harry arches an eyebrow and turns to his colleague.

“He refuses to listen.” Merlin counters.

“Not so,” Eggsy argues nonchalantly, certain that Harry will take his side. “Wot I refuse to do is listen to an’ repeat tha same things over an’ over. I’m asked to do that I already know. Teach me somethin’ new instead of wastin’ everyone’s time. I think you lot have better things to do than guide me through tha alphabet a second time.”

Merlin turns frigid at such a statement. “Ye propose I am not needed?”

“Wot you asked me to do I did, now we either continue to teach me somethin’ else or bring someone else to tutor me.”

It was obvious the man had just been insulted and even looked as if he was seconds away from a heated response, yet Eggsy was certain of his own truth and glanced at Harry to ask for support.

Merlin’s answer comes faster, with eyes hard and voice heavy along with the sound of forcibly contained rage. “I understand ye got used to learning in a different way. Pick up new things as ye go, thinking there will always be time to improve some other day… But ye _agreed_ to our offer, ye _agreed_ to our conditions and so ye agreed to follow our ways.” He stalks forward. “And yet ye push away what we want ye to learn, refuse anything that requires more than a day to master.”

“It’s just writing an’ readin’! I understand your kind uses posh words an’ empty pleasantries, but that doesn’t matter to me. Out in tha streets recitin’ this would earn you a blow to your stomach by tha end of a third sentence!-”

“But ye won’t be working out on the street,” Merlin towers over Eggsy still sitting at his desk. “Yer a part of this world,” In controlled anger Merlin gestures about the decorated room. “And here image is everything. Out there ye might get a blow to the stomach, but here the equivalent is _social suicide_ , something that is very hard to recover from if possible at all. And,” Behind the steel frames, his eyes sharpen. “It is something yer _very_ likely to commit without our guidance.”   

Merlin’s mood was contagious as Eggsy played along, aggrieved and tense he gazes up at his mentor with equal enmity.

“Then by your words, I’m socially inept? Is that why you’re so scornful? Because it turns out I am nothin’ but an incompetent street rat?”

“Nae,” Merlin’s expression changes just for a moment, from angry to hurt, but soon becomes stony once more as he goes on. “Ye cover yer ears like a child and act as if you’re inept…Give in, set aside your stubbornness,” He hunches over the table and taps on the open page with his index finger. “Learn to write the way we teach, learn to do what we ask. It all might seem useless, however, it is the details that separate the one who only tries from the one who always succeeds.”

Eggsy’s mouth opens but…Well, he can’t think of anything to say. He found himself agreeing to Merlin’s words, the last part at least. His anger, on the other hand, insisted on finding a way to win the petty argument, their difference in class and social standing still a topic worth paying attention to.

“Merlin,”

The tension was broken by Harry’s pacific voice. In a second the bald man blinks and steps aside, crossing his arms and choosing to settle his eyes on the floral carpet, silent uneasiness clear on his face. He ignores the probing look Harry had sent his way.

“I suppose it would be fair to let another party gauge our pupil’s work so far. Now, Eggsy,” The younger, still somewhat confused by the sudden end of his and Merlin’s argument, gives his full attention to Harry. “Imagine that I am your dear friend, a Royal Navy captain that had just returned from his long and tiring voyage at sea. I decided to visit you, my boyhood friend, who’s now a noteworthy architect working in London. How would you greet me?”

The request being odd, Eggsy takes a few seconds to mull over it. When he finally does construct a fitting monologue in his head, Eggsy takes in a breath and entwines his fingers, presenting the two gentlemen with the most pretentious smile he could manage.

“Captain Hart, how long has it been? You’ve been missed dearly, my friend. Not a day has passed without the sadness that followed your departure,” The fake upper-class accent made it harder to pronounce some of the words, but Eggsy continued applying it, set on proving he’d studied enough to create a fake persona capable to fool anyone. “You simply must tell me of your adventures out at the shores of China. Would you give me the honour of joining me at Porchester Place this evening? I am sure there is still a chess set somewhere in my study. A game along with a glass of scotch? Just like the old days, wouldn’t that be nice? And after, I could show you my plans for the Mayfair reconstruction down at Hill Street.”

Merlin stays silent while Eggsy assumes his victory over his tutor and leans back, awaiting praise.

“Hmm,” Harry hums, nodding to himself. “As much as I would like to disagree, he was correct.” He turns to his colleague.

“ _Thank you_ -”   

 “That was not meant for you, Eggsy,” Harry continues without missing a beat. He discards the look of shock on the younger’s face and addresses his friend. “Adequate, although I would try and focus on specifics. There’s no construction in Hill Street that I know of…How is he in other subjects?”

“Pronunciation has gotten better…” Merlin glances at their perplexed pupil, more to make sure that he won’t be interrupted than anything else. “Some words are still a bit difficult to enunciate, but much progress has been made. Common knowledge of history, literature, law….surprisingly. I haven’t tried much else.”

“I won’t suggest you end your lessons. I would, however, recommend applying theory to practice or try a more physical approach to learning. Entertain him once in a while. A certain lady had always said your teaching lacked excitement.” He says, voice serious yet teasing.

“The quicker we finish with this,” He points to the book on Eggsy’s desk. “Then there will be time for _excitement_.”

“Then-I- Wot’s wrong with my impersonation?!” The boy demands after he had found his voice.

“Incorrect at some places, for starters,” Harry begins. “Luckily, that can be fixed. Secondly, you sound far too morally superior. For God’s sake, you were addressing your boyhood friend, not masking your irritation towards a man who’d stolen your fiancé.” Eggsy frowns. Had he sounded too pretentious, even for them? “And the posture…Visibly averse. Not warm and inviting how proper friends show when conversing.”

“But that’s just…details.” It didn’t make sense to Eggsy. The monologue might have been too much in some places, even so, why must his impersonation of a gentleman be immaculate?

“In this line of work, details are important. Say something improper, ask a thing considerate taboo or break some rules of etiquette and oneself could find themselves in a threatening situation. Therefore we _must_ pay attention to detail, everything from a proper greeting to the way your body moves when talking.”

“Your butler seems to address me as _sir_ , ain’t that _improper_?” Goads Eggsy. “An’ teachin’ me to greet a client properly before showin’ me how to sew so I wouldn’t bleed over some poor chap’s trousers? Where’s the sense in that?” The two don’t respond even though Harry did look more lenient than Merlin. “Learnin’ all these…these petty phrases. Why does a tailor’s apprentice need to know how to sit so he won’t portray how irritated he truly feels?”

By this point, Eggsy’s fed up by the constant flow of silence when he presents the two older gentlemen with a simple question. Yet again he glares at them both, turning their eyes away in discomfort.

One more situation like this and Eggsy might just burst.

“Have ye come only to interrupt or is there a valid reason why yer wasting our time?” Merlin derails their conversation towards Harry’s decision to pop in.

Harry’s neutral expression changes, suddenly he’s turning back with a sober voice, the peace of dealing with Eggsy gone entirely.

“Another one has surfaced.”

That sentence alone was enough to ruin Merlin’s mood more than Eggsy had. “Christ,” Merlin sighs, allowing himself a brief curse. “Is it the same woman?”

Eggsy felt his blood run cold. That question could only mean one thing.

“The description given tells us the conditions in which they were found are similar. This time it’s the other arm…Described to be cut so that it could fit the piece we had acquired. Orders direct that no further investigation is to be carried out before our assessment.”

“Then a visit to the newest scene of the crime is expected?” Unsatisfied by the new information, Merlin walks over to an armchair at a corner in the room, and begins to gather what few books and other things he’d brought for the lesson.

“Yes,” Harry confirms the obvious and clasps his hands behind his back, waiting. “This too was found on the East end. The police had scouted the area, no traces of other pieces were found…”

“I see the find as a fortune on its own, even with her death,” All of his things neatly stacked on his arms, Merlin turns to his pale student. “Yer wish is granted. We’re done for today.”

Despite the sickening news, for the first time since Merlin started teaching him, Eggsy was actually happy to listen to him. Eggsy wastes no time to cap his pen and gather his notes, wanting to leave the room and the horrors discussed in it as soon as possible.    

“Whatever for?” Asks Harry, making the two halt.

Slowly, Merlin turns to his friend, stack of books and all. Eggsy too turns away from gathering his things off the desk. “I trust yer smart enough not to moot the case any further whilst he’s here…” Eggsy gives him a look that was both thankful and irritated.

“I’m not that daft.”

“Judging from the way ye sow? Could have fooled me,” Merlin quips with a calm face. Eggsy suppresses a chuckle.

“Yes, yes, very clever,” Harry moves on over to Eggsy’s side. “But you _do_ know we cannot ignore him forever. Why not bring him along?” It’s his turn to feel smug as Eggsy and Merlin turn back at him in shock. “Better now than never, wouldn’t you agree?” Harry shifts his weight when he was met with silence. “Isn’t this what he needed? Applying theory to practice?”

“Wot?”

“ _Now_?” Merlin cuts the younger off unintentionally.

“Yes, now. Why waste any more of our time?” He asks Eggsy in particular but the other was too stunned to answer. “Moreover, you’ll get some insight into your expected duties.”

Of course, he wanted to know. If he knew then Eggsy could finally see if their offered benefits were worth the guilt of possible murder collaborator or was it better to go back to Dean’s side and blackmail these employers for extra money. The guilt of him possibly working for someone worse than Dean was eating Eggsy alive.

Merlin, have shown protest before, now too disapproved of the idea. But now he seemed less angry and more tired, as if the topic had a permanent role in his life, always ruining his day. It added even more questions to the long list Eggsy saved for a better time.

“Do as ye please,” Merlin mutters in bitter defeat and exits the room.

“Ever so dramatic,” Harry explains even though Eggsy didn’t ask to. “Leave those there,” He tells Eggsy. “I’m sure Merlin will put them away once we return and he’s done acting a child.”

To his own surprise, Eggsy found himself agreeing. Every time he and Merlin would be forced to talk it all ended in one-sided glaring…

Alright, maybe it wasn’t just one-sided. Could you blame Eggsy? Between these walls, he had no peace of mind; studying (or rather repeating what he’d learned as a boy), sitting quietly while the two older gentlemen converse and joke at each other’s expense all whilst Eggsy is forced to second guess everything and everyone he encounters at Kingsman Tailors.

Each day after his lessons with Merlin Eggsy would return home and act like nothing was amiss. His mother would knit, he would undo his sister’s braids and when the whole family lay in bed, Eggsy would always stare at the ceiling and catalogue that day’s events, making mental notes of what to do the next time he’s at Kingsman.

It felt infuriating but not as much as the knowledge that somewhere in the Kingsman’s study there’s a book; a book or something in it that was tied to his father and could, _hopefully_ , offer Eggsy more answers than Harry or Merlin had given so far.

Sadly, luck wasn’t on his side as every day after Eggsy became officially employed, he and Merlin met in the study and would always move to the Testing room. If only he had a moment for himself, free to roam the building. He suspected there was much more to see on the floor above or the basement but for now, his priority was the study.

He tried excusing himself to the loo to which Merlin actually _offered to lead him there_. Eggsy agreed.

Of course he agreed! He couldn’t let his plan be compromised by declining and making them even more suspicious of him. They already surveyed him the whole time he stayed at Kingsman Tailors. Some watched him due to suspicion (Harry, Merlin and probably the shop’s attendant) others in disdain (that Rufus fellow and another youth Eggsy noticed, who looked equally as bigoted as his friend) and finally, the servants (Drew, coachman and various men and women), whose very job was to observe and aid their masters.

The only ones that weren’t as watchful were Drew and a maid called Amelia. With the butler’s supervising Eggsy scouted much of the first floor, stopping short of the basement’s entrance when Drew had announced Eggsy should return to his lesson. He had better luck with the maid.

Amelia, a polite woman around Eggsy’s age, even went so far as to explain some things like what some of the rooms were used for and that the surly man above the fireplace was Arthur, the head of Kingsman Tailors, apparently. Eggsy thought he looked nothing like the head tailor, then again, no one looked like your typical tailor either, Eggsy told himself as Amelia made sure he wouldn’t wander off.   

And even if he would gain the right to walk around freely, before him stood another obstacle – the sheer number of books in the study.

Yes, he’s seen (approximately) from where Merlin retrieved that book. In the mornings, when he met the man before their lessons, Eggsy would trail the book spines with his eyes while his tutor gathered the things they’ll need for the day. Eggsy made sure to stare at the bookshelves opposite to the one he knew he needed to search, so Merlin wouldn’t get suspicious. None of the books on the shelves looked like the one Merlin had taken out on that faithful day. Eggsy was sure it was hidden behind one of the many tomes, perhaps even inside one of them. He narrowed them all down to 26.

It’s a pity he’s unable to progress and instead is stuck trailing after Harry and Merlin like a grumbling puppy on a leash.

“Eggsy?”

“Comin’,” Eggsy sighs and closes his book, glaring at the cover of _A Study in Scarlet_ instead of Harry, who waited for him at the door. A gut feeling told Eggsy there was a reason they chose Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work for Eggsy’s lessons. It was intriguing to read yet the plot invoked some sort of dread in Eggsy, enhanced whenever Merlin would sneak in a question about the case in the book and not the material they were supposed to be revising.

The trio meets in the study and proceeds into the city through the sewer. It was damp, smelly and dark as the last time Eggsy walked through it. The boy trips a handful of times, grumbling.

“How can you walk fine an’ not go sprawlin’ down, tits up?”

“It might take years,” Eggsy hears Merlin’s voice from his right. “It gets easier with time.”

And truly, Eggsy could already remember corners where he needed to mind his step. They didn’t need to reach out and guide him as much as before. Eggsy still sometimes felt a hand on his back, guiding him through some of the turns, and found himself thankful for it (the lack of blindfold too). Harry and Merlin seemed to know their way around just fine, Eggsy wondered if he’d be the same given a little bit more practice, but some things still made the sewer an impractical choice of route.

“Why not just take a carriage?” Eggsy can’t help but mutter when he almost stepped into another puddle of god knows what.

“That would defeat the purpose of stealth, wouldn’t it?” Harry answers from his left.

“Alright. We get to tha East end, go back into tha street, lookin’ all proper an’ poised,” Eggsy rolls his eyes in the darkness. “We’ll still reek of this place!”

“I’m sure the inspector won’t mind. I know he’s smelled worse.”

“And we change suits frequently,” Merlin offers another explanation. “Haven’t ye noticed?”

Yes, yes he has. Eggsy’s just irritated he hadn’t put two and two together sooner. He’s glad it was too dark for them to notice his embarrassment. He decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of their walk for good measure.    

They resurface near a riverside pathway similar to the one from their first meeting. At the top of some narrow stone stairs, police officers greeted them, rather surprised that they came from the riverside, and escorted them towards a building encircled with bobbies and confused civilians.

A guard beside the basement entrance stops them briefly, more to find out why such an out of place character as Eggsy was tagging along. The reason Harry gave was curt and absolute, so thankfully Eggsy was approved to enter with no further questioning, but with a number of eyes following his back down the basement’s stairs. Eggsy caught the tail of Harry’s and Merlin’s hushed exchange, insulting the very guard they had just passed.

The mystery of why they’ve come to the building’s basement was soon answered as Eggsy stepped into the dim room where most of the officers were hunched over a table, and instantly had to cover his nose with his sleeve.

The stench was horrible, rivalling the sewer’s own. On the distressed wooden tabled laid the reason for their visit – a severed human arm with a greenish hue. Around it, with handkerchiefs and gloves covering their noses, stood an inspector and his colleagues, illuminated by the many lanterns placed all around the room and the table.

The room itself was cold and damp, with wet hay stacked in one corner and visible mould growing on the upper stones of the four walls. The wet hay, fungus and rotting meat made up a sickening _aroma_. An officer to Harry’s left looked a minute or two away from heading out to hurl.

Harry curses, narrowing his eyes at the smell. He and Merlin step closer towards the table. Eggsy’s hesitant to follow.

“Gentlemen,” The inspector greets them with relief. He steps around to shake Harry’s gloved hand. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can offer some insight into what kind of _creature_ is in charge of this monstrosity.”

“A human,” Merlin tells him sorrowfully and puts down his leather bag beside the severed arm. “Unfortunately, our kind is still the most dangerous animal.”

Eggsy hears the inspector let out a tired hum. “An animal is certainly what I’d call them. I’ll gladly watch the killer’s neck break from the noose.” His eyes harden in the golden lantern light.

“Go on then, what do we know?” Harry asks, eyeing the victim’s raw knuckles.

“This piece was found by John Pebhem, a hostler from an inn close by,” Starts the inspector. He watches Merlin retrieve a pair of white gloves and begin to probe the cold skin. “Apparently he’d allowed suspicious men keep their… parcels here for a small fortune. He suspects they were grave robbers. No identification was left, only the tattered clothing used to conceal the arm.”

“Has Mr Pebhem decided to finally bring these crimes to the police with this?”

“Unlikely,” The inspector kneads his chin, fingers briefly disappearing in his moustache. “I’d say he came forward due to lack of payment. Seems that he is disturbed by his basement being used for such illegal activities only when there is no gain from it,” His chuckle sounds dry. “Greedy fool.”

“I’m afraid there it is not yet time to laugh, inspector. We still have a mystery killer on our hands…And a group of body snatchers you need to question.” Harry says with bitterness in his mouth.

The man stops playing with his chin, surprised to hear their next course of action. “Body snatchers? Surely, the killer is more important and the more logical target. As I’ve said, the grave robbers left no clues to their names or whereabouts. And besides,” He turns to his colleagues, searching for support. “I would propose finding the killer as our upmost task.”

“They might not have given their names but certainly Mr Pebhem could give us _some sort of a description_.” Harry jeers in frustration at the inspector acting dumb. “And now for the _children_ ,” He emphasizes cruelly. “If we find the robbers, we might also find information on this arm’s dumping grounds, which could help us identify the killer. Is there any other reason we should abandon a possible lead and do our duty to protect the dead’s peace as well?”

The men on the other side of the wooden table all stare with sour expressions. Only the inspector appeared to be more anxious than angry for being treated this way. “What if it’s another person entirely..?” The man suggests. “Some poor man’s arm stolen from a grave, left behind on its intended way to a medical school?”

“It’s a woman,” Merlin inserts himself into the tensed conversation, keeping his eyes on the glaucous expanse of cold skin. “Most likely the one we’ve been gathering parts of. The progress of decay should match the other parts we’ve acquired.”

His explanation made Eggsy feel nauseous. Behind Merlin, Eggsy had a good view of the rotting body part, a slime-like sheen glistening in the artificial light and making him grab for his stomach to try and soothe the uneasiness there.

Deep down Eggsy was slightly impressed at the older men’s ability to control themselves at the sight of such horror. As one would expect, that feeling of admiration was overshadowed by the fear of what possible things they have seen before to warrant such a controlled reaction now.

“Have ye noticed the sides?” Merlin rotates the arm, holding upwards the upper part that should be connected to a shoulder. “Clean cut. Most distressed around the bone. The flesh is cut off clean while the bone was perhaps separated from the body using force.”

The four men across the table lean forward for a further inspection while Eggsy does the opposite and leans back, even taking a small step backwards to steady himself.

Now he wished they’d left him outside with the grumpy guard instead bringing Eggsy along, his jacket was already soaking in the rancid smell. His modest breakfast threatened to climb back up the more he stared at the ghastly sight, unable to turn away. Eggsy tried to focus on Merlin’s broad back but the arm was hard to ignore.

“See the knuckles?” Merlin continues. “Abrasions. The other arm in our possession has similar ones. However, these are more prominent. It might mean the victim is right-handed. Another point to add to our victim’s portrait.”

Despite himself, Eggsy eyes followed the bruises that Merlin noted. He’d say it’s a grounded assumption that the victim tried to protect herself. Eggsy had nursed similar wounds after a particular disagreement with Poodle at the gang’s frequented pub. The victim could have been fighting her killer just before her death. It was only a possibility yet it still made the poor woman’s death circumstances a little bit clearer.

He just wished they would put away the arm. How much longer could they eye it here? Surrounded by old junk, mouldy walls, wet hay and without a better light source. Eggsy would urge them to complete a more thorough examination at a morgue or an operating theatre, if not for the fear that he might dirty the grimy floor even further once he opens his mouth. He doesn’t have the stomach for this-

Merlin tilts the arm for a better view of the knuckles and ends up slightly squeezing the top half of the arm for a better hold of it. The squeeze lets out a wet sound and Eggsy sees what moisture was left leave the open flesh and trickle down Merlin’s thumb, resembling a small stream.

Ironically, that was the last drop for Eggsy.

He shoves past two officers and runs up the stairs into the street, still clenching his stomach when he turned around the house’s corner. His movement made it worse and in no time Eggsy’s forced to hunch over and empty his stomach onto the wet cobblestone.

For a few minutes, he gags and coughs, blinking away the tears while his throat was burning. He felt better, tried to focus on the cool stone wall pressed against his palms and forehead.

Eggsy never thought he had such a weak stomach. Then again, he’d never seen a rotting, severed arm before, was never expected to calmly watch it being examined. He would rather go home and eat whatever spoiled food their landlady had kept in her cellar and refused to throw out. He’d get sick but even that would be more enjoyable than this.

Eggsy heaves and shivers against the cold breeze, his clammy skin was too sensitive not to try and fight against it. Somewhere in the distance, Eggsy hears horses. He listens to their clopping, using the sound to steady himself enough to push his heavy body off the wall. He had to go back as soon as possible. He was sure they wanted nothing less of him after Eggsy just ran out, acting a child.

 _Just a moment more_ , he told himself, using the slippery bricks as a lifeline. A moment more and he’d return to that cursed basement. God knows how much he desired to leave. Merlin, Harry and the officers seemed eager to leave as well.

But he had to stay, otherwise, he might ruin his chances for a good payoff. Eggsy damned everything and everyone that made his family’s life so difficult that, in the end, he ended up in such a horrible position, ignoring the words “honest work” Harry threw around so vigorously. Nothing about what he saw in the basement was honest. Nothing he promised to do and not tell his mother and sister about felt honest to him.

But money was money, no matter how shitty it made Eggsy feel. And so he had to carry out his duties for the evening accordingly, whatever they turn out to be. (Oh God, he hoped it had nothing to do with the victim’s arm itself). Even the thought of walking back into the dim basement brought back the urge to retch, though nothing would come up. He allowed himself a minute more or however long he could get away with before they came looking for him.

“-Here?”

He shuts his eyes in disappointment.

Eggsy hears footsteps and voices getting closer. They stop when they’ve turned the corner and Eggsy was sure he’s no longer hidden, not that a closed-off passageway could hide him that well.

Still somewhat heaving, he makes use of his shaky limbs and pushes himself off the wall, leaving his hands on it in case his legs give out.

Before him stood Harry, taking in Eggsy’s state in silence. Eggsy found himself rather glad it was only him. Unfortunately, after a beat of silence, Harry’s joined by Merlin, whose anxious eyes land on Eggsy with a start.

It was hard to breathe under their gaze; It made Eggsy feel like he’s ten again, hiding in fear until an adult came to comfort him. Ridiculous.

There was nothing right about this whole situation. There was nothing right with what they left back in the basement. All of it felt wrong, disgusting and suspect. Eggsy expected maiming or murder in Dean’s further plans for him, but to think he’d spent his evening covering an East side street with the modest contents of his stomach…

Everything could be but a hangover induced nightmare. He should wake up from it any moment to find himself warm and safe beside Daisy and their mother. Sadly, a sudden cold breeze told him otherwise.

“Feeling better…?” Eggsy watches Harry take a step forward.

 “No…Although, I don’t think there’s anythin’ left in me to sick up again,” Eggsy chuckles weakly. It wasn’t well received.

“Ye should leave,” Merlin insisted with a stern look. “Or wait outside until we’ve finished.”

The proposition made Eggsy frown. Again he was regarded as a child.

“I should ask an officer to watch over you. We won’t take long-”

“I’ll be just fine on my own.” Eggsy stops Harry, his voice growing darker. Harry seems to realise what silly game they’ve started. 

“I meant nothing mean by that,” Harry takes another, this time more cautious step towards him. “You’re nauseous. I think it would be best for you to keep away from the basement.”

The comment sparked something in Eggsy. He’d prefer to be in the basement than be given dirty looks from a classist officer anyway. “…I can go back.”

“Lad, you’re barely standing on your own.” For a second Merlin’s voice sounded almost soft. Eggsy just waves the thought away and opens his mouth to reply, already had given in to his stubbornness.

“I’ll handle myself if it happens again. No reason for me to leave until you’re done.”

The two men rub their brow and lour at him respectively. Eggsy knows what he is doing. He knows why they’re exasperated, but he also knows this method works. Michelle Unwin had perfected the art of stubbornness before Eggsy was even born. His father often laughed at how much of an unmovable pair his wife and son had made.

“This is why he said nothing,” Merlin addresses Harry. “ _This is why I told ye_ at the very start that this couldn’t have a future.”

“I too emptied my stomach when faced with my first cadaver…and the second…and the _eight_ ,” Harry accents each one with a nod. “What did the former Bedivere say before your knighting? Something about you still becoming queasy at the mere sight blood two years into your medical education?”

The question seemed to toggle an unpleasant memory in Merlin. “That…is besides the point!” he dodges the accusation. Merlin takes in a breath to calm himself and then looks at Eggsy with what the younger assumed was forced equanimity. “Yer unwell. Go home or wait here until we find someone to escort ye there.”

“ ‘ave I unknowingly sacked myself for runnin’ at tha sight of rottin’ flesh?” Eggsy asks pointedly. “Wot for Heaven’s sake _are_ we doin’ here other than watchin’ those officers gawk at a several day old arm?!”

“Trying our best to solve a murder,” Merlin comes closer and stops a step away from Eggsy, serious eyes appearing over the rim of the taller man’s glasses. “A woman was murdered, her body parts scattered throughout London as if she was someone’s discarded rubbish.” Each word came out more heated than the previous. Despite himself, Eggsy felt a hint of fear because of the man in the depths of his chest. “And her killer, whoever the sick person happens to be, is still at large and unidentified.”

“…I know that.” Eggsy mutters, his voice sounding pathetically small.

“Then ye understand why we can’t waste precious time and-”

In an instant, Eggsy scowls up at him. “Are you suggestin’ I’m-”

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Oddly it’s Harry who silences him, already moving forward and helping Merlin corner Eggsy. Harry didn’t look mad. Instead, he looked irritated, offering Eggsy a steadying look and then gazes at his friend with an expression of displeasure. “Ignore him.”

“Nothing good comes of such a life. The culprit is found, the victims are buried and the inspector lays his head on a pillow at night, named a hero…But a hero plagued with nightmares of the victims, the crimes, the fear of it happening to someone dear to _him_. Years pass and he suffers, looking for anything to dull his fear.” Eggsy feels almost winded at how quickly the topic changed and how sombre Merlin’s face turned. Although a bit on the negative side, his words made sense. Eggsy just wasn’t sure if Merlin was referencing himself or someone else.

“It does take a toll on you,” Harry offers his own input. “In different ways.”

“Is this supposed to convince me to drink my fears away? I’ve lost your thought, _completely_.”

Merlin’s patient, incredibly so as he leans in to Eggsy’s eye level and gives him the most piercing look since he’d met the man. “What ye saw in the basement is only the beginning. The torso ye found in the sewer too. Yes, this case is especially gruesome, but there will always be more.” Eggsy doesn’t register his hand grip his own pant leg, too focused on what else Merlin had to say. “Eggsy, there will always be more cases such as this. Maybe again, in London, maybe in a different city or perhaps in a whole other country,” He stresses. “But there will always be another and Kingsman will expect ye to be present, on the solving end or worse…”

The way Eggsy gulped was too loud for his own ears.

“I…You’ve told me somethin’ similar before an’ I agreed to it. Why are we still discussin’ this?” Eggsy goes on and hopes for Merlin to lay off, just for the time being. He tried not to think too much about what the older said or Eggsy worried he’d catch himself reeling.

Merlin leans back and narrows his eyes at him. “And you’re content with that?”

“He agreed. I don’t see the point of continuing.” Harry turns his body towards Merlin with impatience.

“Of course,” Merlin answers, leaning back. “A selfish man takes care of his wishes first.”

“Am I selfish?” Harry arches a brow. “What I offered him was only a business proposition. He understands things better than you give him credit for. Eggsy is his own man, something you had never experienced, I’m sure. You’re old,” Harry decides to go in for an immature blow. “Old and bitter.”

Merlin frowns. “I’m younger than ye.”

“And look at how many years your bitterness has aged you. All thanks to worrying over matters you cannot control.” The last bit of that sounded rather sad, at least to Eggsy it did. Merlin’s mood seemed to worsen upon hearing the message in Harry’s words Eggsy had yet to decipher.

When silence trailed on, Harry tried a different sentence to end their argument: “I have offered Eggsy a proposition neither of _us_ could refuse.”

Merlin’s face became stony. He accepted the end of their argument with a resentful nod. He said nothing further to anger his colleague.

Eggsy wasn’t sure what he witnessed, though something important for sure. He even thought that perhaps this was a fight Eggsy shouldn’t have been present for. Under an impassive mask, Eggsy found himself noticing bits of hurt that Merlin had kept secret. The tension between the two older men too had begun to rise, becoming hard to withstand.

All of it was left unmentioned as Merlin moved away and waited for them to join him and return to the basement.

“And he’s off without a word, typical,” says Harry. “…I suppose we should return before those imbeciles decide to get rid of the evidence or speak of this to a civilian.” He walks along the wall and towards the bald man.

“I know you lot are not tailors…” Eggsy started when the two stood there, expecting him to follow. “Or at least you have the shop as a front. But aren’t you two working for the police..? You’ve been insultin’ them since we arrived at this bloody nook.”

“How can we not insult them when those bampots do nothing but waste time, mishandle evidence and blatantly derail the investigation, all due to a _bribe_ ,” Merlin grumbles, tone low and spiteful. Eggsy furrows his brow in confusion.

“Have you honestly thought an inspector would dismiss the grave robbers in order to find the woman’s killer with no other clues? Only a fool would put aside such a chance for a lead. And believe me, the inspector is no fool- Well,” Harry shows a wry smile. “I’d say he’s a _greedy_ fool. Ironic, is it not?” He tells Eggsy.

The boy in question feels himself become even more confused. He stares at them and thinks. Eggsy takes in their attire, thinks over their comments and the way they held themselves. All of it spoke of an upper-class upbringing. If so then…

“Then who do you answer to? Their supervisor? Tha River Police? Tha head of Scotland Yard?” Their controlled reactions gave a minimal sign of the answer to that being no. Eggsy’s frown deepens.

Then his eyes slightly widen and he lowers his voice, both amazed and shaken by the possibility. “Do you work for tha _Crown_?”

“Not exactly,” Harry’s response makes Eggsy’s mouth drop open. “…First and foremost we serve our country. Loyalty had made it so that the Crown is our second priority.”

“Secret police…” Eggsy whispers to himself, unable to believe what he’d just heard. “I’ve been recruited to work for tha blimming _secret police_.” He grips at his cap and hair, turning away from them and groans – He doesn’t know from what. Frustration? Anxiety? Fear? All of the above.

“Eggsy, we are not-”

He turns back and talks over Harry. “Secret police! How could you do this? I know I’m probably scum in your eyes, but there must be _some_ sort of laws against it. I can’t believe you…”

His distress passes over to them, although for different reasons. Eggsy assumed they were only worried he’d raise his voice loud enough for a passerby to hear and blow their cover entirely.

Eggsy doesn’t hear what Merlin says to Harry at the very start and doesn’t blame himself for it honestly. He was too busy simultaneously wondering how on Earth he’d moved on from a criminal gang member to a goddamn secret police recruit and fearing that the masses would tear him apart if news of Eggsy working for such a group would ever get out.

When he panic had somewhat subsided, Eggsy could again take in his surroundings. “He did agree to stay despite the circumstances,” Eggsy heard Harry tell the other.    

Merlin stays quiet again, which only added to Eggsy’s brooding vision of him. Harry had taken his friend’s silence as his cue to continue.

“Eggsy, because you’re now a member of Kingsman, I feel it is necessary to explain some details so there’s less of a misunderstanding.” Harry talks slow and careful as if Eggsy was a frightened animal who he worried would be scared off if the wrong thing was said. “Kingsman is not the secret police. We are an intelligence agency set on the task of protecting our country and its people from inner and international threats. We do not serve the Queen directly.”

“Oh, I see it now,” Eggsy chuckles anxiously. “I’ve agreed to for work for a _glorified_ secret police.”

Harry’s patience was wearing thin. “Listen for just a second to what we are saying.”

“You’ve said enough!” Eggsy exclaims, sounding more at panic than angry. The younger looks around aimlessly and curses once or twice. Eggsy could feel himself slightly shaking except he didn’t know if it was because of his nerves or the cool night air.

“Leave him be,” Merlin tells Harry when the brunet takes a step closer. Eggsy would be irked at the Scotsman acting so heartless if he hadn’t realised the man said so to give him space to think.

Eggsy paid them no mind as his thoughts spiralled out of control. His mind was flooded with eerie scenarios, the fear for himself and his family, and the chance of death all thanks to his recent employment. He never thought of such a turn of events yet there he was, in a secluded alleyway with two secret intelligence agents that had brought him to view a crime scene. Were the books he stole a line of dominos falling on each other that had brought him into this mess?

“You know, he wasn’t treating you as a child…” Harry’s voice manages to break through Eggsy’s thoughts. “Merlin said what he said about how it was best for you to leave because he was giving you your last chance. Kingsman pays well, that I guarantee, it still comes at a cost…I’m willing to grant you this one more chance to refuse the offer.” Eggsy registers that Harry was standing in front of him only when he feels the older man’s hand touch his shoulder. “Go home,” He continues a tad softer. “Return to your family. We will take back the deed to the house you’ve been given and perhaps negotiate some other type of cooperation…Or we can pretend that our meetings had never taken place…” He adds after Eggsy shows no enthusiasm to answer.

The mention of Eggsy and his family losing their brand new home had given some help getting back to reality. His mind was too clouded to settle this now. Eggsy decided to sort them out later, for now, he needed one thing, anything to attach himself on to and regain enough focus to carry on with their conversation for the time being.

He’ll mull over Merlin’s and Harry’s words later, when Eggsy will lay in bed, surrounded by darkness and silence to let him think better. Now he picked out one single thing he saw as the most important, one thing he would hate to lose more than that wonderful house for his family.

“You still haven’t answered my questions,” After a while of quiet hysteria Eggsy finally found his voice. “And I’ve got more pendin’.”

“I cannot answer them all at once,” Harry tries to sound apologetic. “We still have a murderer to find and hang.”

For some reason, it felt like an excuse. Eggsy wouldn’t quite label it as coercion but something was amiss. Harry himself told Eggsy that Kingsman’s money came at a cost yet time and time again the older expressed his hope for Eggsy to work for them. He found it incredibly suspicious.

Merlin, on the other side, seemed to be against Eggsy’s integration into Kingsman. His disapproval ranging from various remarks to full-blown glares and the cold shoulder whenever the matter was discussed. Was his remark on Harry acting selfishly possibly true and Harry had ulterior motives linked to Eggsy’s job offer? All signs pointed to yes.

Unfortunately, Eggsy knew too much and was in too deep to quit now. His curiosity may lead him to his death, all for the questions that he had ever since his family’s studio burned down.

“A promise is a promise.” Eggsy ends put agreeing in one exhale. It made his heart heavy to reassure them he wouldn’t leave. Eggsy especially worried about staying in an intelligence agency’s employment. Aside from the money, nothing good could come of this.

And naturally, there was also the desire to help in whatever way he could. How could Eggsy return to his life and sit around, doing relatively nothing while some madman scouted the streets for another victim?

“With those prats, I think you two need all tha help you can get.” He covers up his stress with a cheeky grin. They saw right through it. He’s not surprised.

Harry nods, satisfied, while Merlin displays his usual frown. To Eggsy’s relief neither comments on his fake smile as they wait for him to join them and return to the basement. His walk towards the alleyway’s end felt as if Eggsy had just sentenced himself to something he’ll greatly regret later.

“Will you retire for the night?” Eggsy’s head shoots up in surprise and looks at Harry. “I mean nothing mean by it. We’ll stay for a while longer, sort some things out with the police and see you tomorrow? Say…nine?”

“I’m alright.” Eggsy hears himself insist, despite hating the idea of returning to the damp basement. He also refused to acknowledged that he sounded rather sulky.

“Are ye still nauseous?” Asks Merlin as they once again came into view of the stairs’ guard.

“…A little. I’m better than before. I can stay,” Eggsy says, firm. The last thing he wanted was for them to tiptoe around him like some concerned chaperones. “No more leggin’ it at tha sight of blood.”

“I might have some medicine for ye.” The way Merlin says it ended up sounding rather ominous and Eggsy’s heart beats a little faster at the word ‘medicine’.

Back in the basement, they found the inspector and his colleagues standing around an officer with a view camera, the arm and two lanterns on each side of the arm’s length on the table. A sharp click echoes throughout the room and the police officer steps out from under the camera’s cloth covering its back. While he starts to pack the camera up, the inspector notices their arrival.

“Much was discussed, I hope,” The inspector smiles wide and polite. “And I do hope your companion feels better.”

“Aye, he is,” Merlin answer for him and moves his eyes to the officer tying the camera’s wooden legs together. “Is he the one who took the photos for Lord Bagley’s case as well?” Merlin seemed displeased when the inspector confirmed that indeed it was the same photographer.

Eggsy watches the officers go on to wrap up the arm and get it ready for transportation while Harry makes plans with the inspector to exchange reports in the near future. Meanwhile, Merlin stays clear of his belongings still on the table and instead turns to Eggsy with an odd glint in his eye.

“Has yer father ever shown ye how to operate a camera?”

“Yes,” Eggsy looks up at him, feeling rather uncomfortable for recalling such a fond memory in a basement with a detached body part and a half-dozen policemen. “Although it was a studio camera.”

“Would taking a picture with this one be that much different?” He asks and jerks his head towards the one officer that was almost done packing up the camera.

“You want me to…” It takes a minute for the realisation to hit Eggsy, and when it does, it hits him hard. “No!” Eggsy hisses and looks around in alarm. “I’m not takin’-That’s disgustin’!”

“Ye wouldn’t know how.” Merlin guesses as Eggsy hasn’t quite answered the question.

“I do know how, but I won’t. I’ve taken people’s photographs, not crime scenes’, and not _at night_.”

“Is there no way at all for ye to take it? Is there truly a need to wait till morning?”

Eggsy wasn’t warming up to the idea as fast as the other had hoped. Luckily, Eggsy glanced around the room and counted the lanterns left at their disposal. “I could arrange them so that it’ll be illuminated better, nothin’ more. That is unless we can move it to a room with gas lightin’ or wait until tha sun is back up.”

“Would ye try and take it here?” Eggsy looks back at him, eyeing Merlin like he’s insane. “It won’t matter if after development it turns out to be awful. A single photograph, it’s all I ask, and then ye can retire for the night.”

His request was outlandish. Years out of practice and on top of that, asked to work at night with no proper lighting made Eggsy sure the photograph, _even if he ever agreed to take it_ , would come out dark, the arm without a silhouette or the whole picture could end up blurry and be a waste of effort. He never worked with anything even remotely close to crime scene photography. Sure, he’s taken a few composition shots guided by his father, but nothing like this.

Yet Eggsy felt himself interested, wanting to come closer and at least touch the camera after years of living without it. It invited him closer like an old playmate that missed Eggsy as much as he missed it.

After the fire, Eggsy couldn’t look at a camera or an atelier sign for well over a year. He knew there were more shops such as their own around London and he stayed away from them as much as he could. Even so much as passing them with his mother made Eggsy want to cry for knowing that their home, their business, and his father were forever lost to the flames.

Eggsy lost himself to hate while photography became more and more commercialised around him, fueling his anger for the world even further. His mother would hold him and stroke his hair, holding back her own tears as he told him to never forget that life, to never let their past become a dark memory instead of a happy one.

Their transition to a lower class didn’t help the situation.  Eggsy would more often feel sadness than nostalgia when recalling their happier days as he and his mother slept in a bed somewhere in the Slums.

Eggsy thought he’d be immune to the way cameras made him feel, but even now as if a siren it called out to Eggsy and brought back so many memories, both good and bad.

His reluctance to refuse must have been visible as Merlin stepped away and went about to stop the policemen before they’ve carried out the camera with the arm. He also brought over two lanterns from the crates at the North wall just in case. After he had finished, Merlin said that Eggsy could now do as he pleases.

The inspector, his colleagues and the photographer waited for Eggsy to move, impatience and surprise clear on their faces. Eggsy hesitates but in the end, walks over to the camera. “Only one.” He whispers to Merlin on his way there, feeling nervous.

As soon as Eggsy touches the camera set up for him anew, his chest swells with fragile warmth. His fingers slide across the camera’s polished framing, tracing the small lines and creases that were left after years of use. For a second he was back at their family’s sunny studio with his father by his side, explaining how the device worked with much enthusiasm while Eggsy touched it for the first time. His nose began to burn and he allowed himself a small smile.

Lord help him, he couldn’t start crying here and now.

His attention is brought back by the officer to his left feigning a cough. “Go on then,” asks the photographer. That earns him a dirty look.

Eggsy ducks under the heavy cloth and looks through the lens. It was still not bright enough to make out what’s on the table. Eggsy ducks out and takes whatever form of light he finds in the policemen’s possession (candles, lanterns, gas lamps). He offers them no words of gratitude and comes over to the arm to arrange all the lamps and lanterns around it. He couldn’t recreate natural light, but he supposed this was as best as he could manage with what he’s got. Eggsy also uses his sleeve to move the arm into a better position, careful not to touch the greenish skin with his own.

The end result resembled a dark magic sacrifice about to take place, even so, it was the best way he could arrange the lights in for a picture this late. Eggsy walks back to the camera, ducking again and takes the photo. They wait for the chemicals to transfer the image onto the film.

“Just what are you doing?” Harry leans over and asks Merlin right as Eggsy’s finished and passed over the camera.

“If it turns out better than the last one we’ve gotten, then I’ve found a plausible enough reason for Chester to leave him in our care.” Merlin does his best to make their conversation look casual.

“He already knows,” Harry states, watching Eggsy help the officer with the camera’s legs. “Announced his early arrival from Bath as soon as he got the news. My money’s on Saville.”

“Curse Hesketh and his minions.”

“And if your plan fails?” Harry turns to him expectantly.

Merlin continues to watch Eggsy move around.“…Then we find another reason to keep him at Kingsman.”

Harry’s expression turns slightly surprised. He says nothing else and lets his eyes follow Merlin retrieve his things and leather bag before it’s time to leave.

 

Ten minutes later the crime scene was left dark, the camera put away, the arm wrapped and already on it’s way to the morgue.

“Thank you for your time gentlemen,” The inspector shakes Harry’s and Merlin’s hand while Eggsy waits for them at his spot by the riverside’s staircase. “I’ll be sure to send a report and the photographs at our earliest convenience.”

“Be sure to label them accordingly,” Merlin requests after their handshake. “I’d like to know which is which.”

“Yes, and be sure to find those grave robbers,” Adds Harry, immediately noticing how the inspector’s smile turns forced. “I still think it could be an important clue to find the place of our murder.”

“I’ll see to it personally.” The inspector assures and bids them goodnight with a tilt of his black cylinder. After that, he scurries off to where his colleagues waited for him by a carriage.

Harry and Merlin join Eggsy by the stairs. “He’s lyin’, you know,” Eggsy tells then after they come to a stop in front of him.

“We do,” Harry nods, sounding tired. “Which is why we’ll need to find those body snatchers ourselves.”

“Now?” Eggsy didn’t like the sound of that. “Or are we puttin’ off tha hunt for another night?”

“I reckon you’ve had enough excitement for one evening,” Harry finds it in him to show a brief smirk. Eggsy hates it. “I propose to stop here for now. We expect you in the morning for your lessons.”

Oh those lessons, he despised them more than Harry’s smugness and Merlin’s broodiness combined. “If I’m not busy.” He jokes and isn’t surprised when Merlin doesn’t take it well.

Instead of glaring Merlin takes out a pharmacist’s fold and gives it to Eggsy. “Drink this with a glass of water. It might help with the nausea.” He says and goes down the stairs with Harry to the sewer entrance they used earlier that same evening. After a bit of consideration, Eggsy shoves the mystery packet into his pocket and uses the streets to get home.

Back in their room his mother and sister were already asleep, both snuggled into each other in Michelle’s bed. Eggsy changes and pads around the room as quietly as he could, careful not to wake his mom and be bombarded with questions. He’s glad that for once Daisy wasn’t sleeping in his bed. He was sure he still reeked of wet hay, mould and _death_.

Right before getting into bed Eggsy stares at the fold Merlin gave him, sniffing at the white powder he found inside. They could’ve given him poison for all he knew. Merlin hasn’t even said what it was.

Gradually, Eggsy decided that he was too tired and poured the powder into the glass, drinking the bitter mixture as fast as he could. Then he settled into his bed and tried not to think about the fact he was in a crime scene just an hour ago.

He wakes disgruntled and surprised that he hasn’t died in his sleep. Daisy had woken up him to braid her hair while their mother got ready to leave for the day. Eggsy took that silly form of punishment as his mother being displeased that he’d returned home so late.

After Daisy’s curls were braided and her cheek kissed, Eggsy felt around himself and found that nothing hurt. That was actual medicine Merlin had given him.

They’ve revealed him their agency’s secret. They had the chance to get rid of him for knowing too much and wanting to leave.

But they didn’t, which meant they somewhat trusted him.

“Shite,” Eggsy covered his face and rubbed at his drowsy eyes.

They somewhat trusted him, so Eggsy guesses that in turn, he has to try and find a way to trust them too.         

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, ha ha, I've done the obvious and crammed in Sherlock Holmes into this story too. The original 'Study In Scarlet' had been published in the same year as the current setting, 1887, but in a form of a short story in a magazine (speculated to be around November). It came out as a book only a year later. Even though the Sherlock book thing is a cliche, I wanted it to serve as a way to rope Eggsy into a crime-solving and crisis-evasion mindset without him realising it. It's supposed to serve as a clever tool to help Merlin discuss various scenarios with Eggsy and in turn teach the guy how to act when he'll get a similar mission.
> 
> I've had some difficulty writing this chapter because I didn't know if another arm truly mattered for the story by this point. Hopefully it will make sense as more clues get uncovered and the story continues.


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